


The Beginining of the End

by orphan_account, sheepalicious



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Addiction, Alpha Universe, Celebrity Name-Dropping, Editing Currently, Fish Puns, Forced Sterilization, Gore, Heavy Drug and Alcohol use, M/M, Masturbation, Memes, Mispellings are OFTEN on purpose in this fic and that includes the title!, Nihilism, Notes from the Authors, Slight Medical Discourse, Slow Burn Romance, Stay tuned for formatting!, Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff references galore, Too many honestly, Torture, Unrelated Dave and Rose, WIP, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 06:48:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6363697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheepalicious/pseuds/sheepalicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The end of the world IS at the bottom of a bottle. </p><p>An imperial and warlike species invading Earth from another galaxy is keeping tabs on celebrity Dave Strider, and he is the last person to be able to tell you why. The action really kicks off with an entirely too invasive and disturbing visit to an Alternian medical clinic, and spirals out of control towards condescending gifts, a multi-million dollar movie, and a romance to be marked for the ages. </p><p>Life is only but a chance to be remembered by someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. let's get into the Shit...

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: Co-author Mickey has removed the memes. Carry on.
> 
> Original Message from Mal: Who says literature needs to be timeless? 
> 
> Anyway, we are back at it! This is the second collaboration fic that Mickey Mouse and I have attempted to write about Alpha Dave, but it is no where near the second time we've talked about it. Apparently, the thoughts are still floating around in our heads and just needed to come out. We are posting this for fun, because together we have already written a novel's worth of words on the subject.
> 
> (Please don't read our other attempts from, like, two years ago.)
> 
> This fic probably switches perspectives way too much as it was originally being co-written for our own amusement, so excuse us as we edit it to read better! This is an exploration of the Alpha timeline and the emotions of the characters involved more than anything else. Basically thousands of words focusing on the relationship between Karkat and Dave, and how that would develop when they aren't trapped on a meteor together.
> 
> A Message from Mickey: This author's note is long as shit, but I just wanted to seriously warn potential readers.
> 
> The tags are not kidding; there is very heavy drug and alcohol use throughout the fic and it is not played for laughs. The characters with addiction issues are not written that way for funsies, but because in real life, people aren't perfect. Especially not people under such incredible stress. If drug and alcohol use, talk of masturbation, sex, and medical anatomy, and extended scenes of torture and descriptions of violence bother you, don't read this. You've been warned, dog.

# The _Beginining_ of the End

## Meanwhile: otherwhere...

A small egg hatches in the dead of morning. The light is bright, too many cracks showing before the lil guy even had a chance.

## Back to the _important_ stuff

He is eighteen years and three minutes old, to the second. It’s been more than twelve hours since this young man last ate (some stale Doritos, fuck yeah), but really, who’s counting? No longer a child in a court of law, Dave Strider will be expected to, from now on, take care of himself, by himself. Without any family to speak of, and roughly three friends in the world, he pays for his plane ticket in cash, ready to think past tomorrow. He’s got big, big plans and not a whole lot of money to make those dreams come true, but he’s done more with less. One time, he actually wrestled a hot dog away from a raccoon. That changes a man.

A year later, hungry in an entirely different way, he is in a whole new state in every sense of the word. He’s had little luck selling much in the way of artwork, but he hasn’t given up yet. He’s currently rooming with two other people, a pair of girls who get their money from fuck knows where (his money is on designer soap), who always leave the bathroom a fucking mess. Seriously, why do girls need so many goddamn products? Dave has a part-time job working at a donut shop, but it’s not the worst he’s done for money thus far and it won’t be the worst by far. Just the last sprinkles of a fading adolescence as he watches himself crash into the hole that is adulthood. There are constant power outages in the apartment and only ever seems to be cold water running through the pipelines, but it’s home for now. He’ll make it work.

Work he does, for a whole year. Three hundred and sixty-five days later, he’s no longer in that rinky-dink apartment. He got lucky taking some pictures for the right people at the right wedding, which is something he’s never seriously considered doing for a living. Beautiful couple, lace trimmed with pink silk. Doves at the end. Fuck marriage as an institution, but the money is good. He talked his way into photographing another important lifetime event and then onto a real studio set, where he helped capture some BTS footage for a film in the making. What the fuck was it even about? Some documentary about _celeberties_ , or some basic shit. Not National Geographic, which he had a particular affinity for. This proved to be a good career move, as he was later hired on as a PA for that very studio. He ended up carrying the same doughnuts he had been serving a year ago, a glorified waiter.

At twenty-one, he spent his birthday with coworkers, who are sort of like friends, but don’t stop you from drinking too much and regretting it the next day at work. At least he didn’t get fired and is still living in a slightly better apartment than he used to be. It is one of those nights, much further into the year, when Dave is at a bar with the right coworker and gets a treatment into their sweaty, calloused hands. He’s called into an office the day after that, but not to get reprimanded; they like his stuff. They really, truly, like what he’s got going on inside his little blond noggin. Except they don’t get it at all, which kind of bothers Dave. He does them a solid by attempting to explain the _Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff_ formula, but it doesn’t get him very far immediately.

It takes a year for the studio to buy the rights to the screenplay he typed up after that fateful meeting, but the promises are good. The money is better, but Dave tries not to forget where he came from. Paper crates and crowded cots. Not knowing where his next meal is coming from. Fear of cops, blood, and loud noises. He’s still, he’s still Jenny from the block.

Just kidding, he’s absolutely fucking ecstatic to have this kind of money (which is not actually that much, but hey, he’s slept on several park benches before). Dave takes a risk in getting an even better apartment (ooh, windows), closer to work so that the transport isn’t so bad and so he can work longer hours if needed. The studio goes through several directors before someone finally steps up to the plate and no surprise, it’s Dave. He shows them his portfolio, years and years of accumulated artwork all for this one opportunity. It’s a stretch, but he brings up the once-great director Orson Welles: a white guy who had a lot of experience and privilege, but made a pretty cool movie a long time ago. The producers love this complete horseshit and he gets the job. _Hollywoo_ , right?

One year later, he is in the shit. He’s balls-fucking-deep in this squealing hog with no way out in sight. It’s the hardest work Dave has ever had to do, but he loves giving up his sweat and blood. The production is a shitshow and many people bow out early on. It’s been called _The Biggest Waste of Studio Money Since Howard the Duck_ and it hasn’t even been released in theaters yet. The critics and disgusted preview audiences always put a smile on his face. This movie is going to be the biggest pile of fresh, hot, steaming shit the world has ever seen if Dave can help it.

After a delayed release, it seems he could and did. _Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff_ is finally out in theaters, but what nobody expected is how technically well it’s done. The box office ticket sales are, shockingly, through the roof. The film has become a cult sensation before it’s had a chance to flop. Of course, people fucking hate it and threaten to sue for a variety of reasons, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t already made Dave filthy rich. It does even better internationally and so many countries ban screenings of the movie that it Barbra Streisand's its way into infamy before the studio can say “blueberry pancakes.”

Unlike most celebrities of his day, Dave isn’t one for the spotlight. He doesn’t do very well in interviews and usually offends large crowds, yet talk show hosts keep fighting to invite him on anyway. Solid ratings when his fuck-ups go viral. A year after his first feature film blew up, Dave hasn’t adjusted very well to fame. He has absolutely no idea what to do with the excessive wealth he’s suddenly in charge of and even the man he hires to handle that monetary bullshit for him can’t steal enough to make a dent in it. He does what most famous people do when they have too much time, money, and youth on their hands: party.

About a year later brings the studio sequel to the original, dubbed _Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff: The Movovie_. A decent amount of credit as to why this particular entry is such a creative mess is the excess related to Dave’s lifestyle, but it works for the franchise. Nobody is going to stop Dave Strider from being Dave Strider, especially not his publicist.

 _Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff: The Film_ follows quickly, and by this time Dave is on top of the world. Tiny staircases come with every McDonald’s Happy Meal, and he’s responsible for the recalling of said choking hazards. When asked to make a statement about the unlabeled toys, Dave had this to say on his website:  read between the lines people specifically MADE IN CHINA. it says choking hazerd. i warned you. Wise words from a wise man.

There is one person who has followed his ascendency who can’t be called a fan, per say, but tries to keep in touch between book signings. Rose Lalonde was Dave’s first pen pal, first best friend, but not much else in the way of firsts. She’s made quite a name for herself in a whole other boring industry and she tries to call him at least once a month. Usually full of cryptic batshit. It’s hard balancing writing, meeting fans, unrestrained drinking, and psychic visions, so she can only imagine how hard it must be for Dave to manage three of those things plus award shows.

Only twenty-eight years old and seemingly unable to peak in his career, Dave Strider is living the dream. He’s already an Oscar-winning director, producer, and screenwriter. He’s got his dream cast on contract for his incredibly successful franchise. Hell, Ben Stiller personally gifted him the gold-rimmed aviators from Starsky and Hutch on his birthday. Donald Glover has confirmed his involvement in a project still in the development phase. Dave is practically the most influential person in Hollywood — an unexpected turn coming from a man who, only ten years prior, was in and out of foster homes and homeless shelters.

However, influence does not necessarily mean power. Especially when the powers that be include soda-soaked fools and alien Fish Hitler herself. His one-and-only friend’s cryptic messages from the God’s beyond reach of mortal realm warn of the coming end. How much should he have believed? If he would have listened earlier, maybe Dave wouldn’t be in the same sort of shit pot. Less fame and glory, more power and borey.

Sometimes he regrets taking the road less traveled and whatnot, but then he just cranks up the tunes, does Matthew Mcconaughey levels of cocaine, and puts off his worries until the next morning at work. The writing process is a wild one, for sure.

There are nights where he’s on the phone from dusk to dawn, arguing with Lalonde about his next course of action, if any can be taken. What can two wildly successful post-modern, semi-surrealist artists do about inevitable doom at the hands of an alien sea monster? He lashes out at his long-distance friend nearly every time he receives glitter in the mail from You Know Who, but Rose knows it’s only because he’s afraid. They both are; they’re just children who are all grown up and thoroughly unprepared. Dave talks a big game behind the scenes of his films and Rose between the lines of her novels, but what can two unextraordinary, lonely humans possibly do to stop the apocalypse?

As of now, it's not one of those nights where Dave finds comfort in his psychic best pal. She's too far away to help him any tonight; the only thing that's going to make this shitty day shittier is going to be the knowledge of his impending wicked hangover. That's a Tomorrow Problem though, so he's not going to worry about it. Right now, he's sitting at a bar. He's here all the time, so often in fact that he only hardly gets bothered by locals (too bad this is a tourist town). He's got a long-running tab and he owes a lot of money, but it's no problem. He has it. What he has in his hand is more important though: his third shot of the hour.

The smallish troll standing by the entrance has clearly never been in this particular bar before. But not many places on Earth cater to his particular brand of fuckery, and so he has to go where there's flow. Even if they have an Alternian tap advertised in the goddamn window, he can still feel all the eyes on him when he walks in. Amateurs. Karkat pulls the meanest face that he can muster, and adjusts his posture to that of a defensive stance. He has a glaringly red shirt on, but it's mostly covered with a grey overcoat. Karkat stomps up to the bar, and gets into a subtle argument with the keep. And by subtle, he ends up screaming loud enough so the tenant upstairs can hear. Finally he gets his way, and his expensive imported shit slides across the bar in a tabbed can. He pops the top, sitting at a corner of the counter. His foot never stops tapping. Is he waiting for something? His eyes flick back and forth across the faces of the people around him. Who's he looking for?

Third shot, fourth asshole of the night to come bother Dave about something or other. A picture together? Sleeping together? No, this guy wants to take shots with a celebrity. That, he can do. He is no stranger to alcohol, so the next few shots he spaces out so as to keep track of how wasted he's getting. The party he's sitting with gets kind of boring, but he doesn't feel like getting up and sitting back at the bar alone again, so he listens to Dan talk about his cheating wife while everybody "oohs" along to the story.

Dave wants to be rescued, but the bartender just makes an exaggerated sad face at him and continues mixing drinks. He has no cell phone to play with, so he keeps his hands to himself and looks at random people in the bar behind his shades. Why are these still on?

Somewhere after three or four cans of this bullshit (his breath smells like menthol and kool aid) Karkat is mobile. He starts walking around the place, chatting up as many people as he can loudly. He plays a song on the jukebox in the corner. He grinds on a few people (with no rise, how unfortunate). He gets on top of a table and fucking owns. Confidence central. Dignity, not so much. What was he here for again?

Dave, on the other hand, manages to hold himself together well, even though he sort of feels like falling out of his chair after a while. That's the best feeling in the world, he's sure. It feels like coming home. He rests his chin in his hand. At least he can forget about the argument he had with the producers this morning at work.

There's a troll dancing on a table a little ways away. He's not speciesist or anything, but he's got beef with those gray fucks for sure.

He thinks this guy looks stupid, so he stops looking at him. Nice ass, though.

The song "Cherry Bomb" comes on, and the troll tries to explain how ironic it is to an uninterested bar keeper. So Karkat moves on, sitting down at some random table and telling them about it. But they could care less. So he goes back to the barkeeper. How long before he gets kicked out?

When Dave finally tires of hearing about Dan's life problems, he excuses himself and heads to the bathroom. He really has to take a piss and thankfully, there's no line. He ignores a couple making out next to one of the urinals and when he emerges, he sits down at the bar.

He feels pretty fucked up, but not far gone enough. It's been a few hours, at least, and he's not blackout drunk yet. Dave looks to his left only to see the little troll from earlier. He wants to punch him in the face, but he would never do that. He's already in hot water at work, he can't start a bar fight with a troll. What a ridiculous thought.

“Hey asshole,” The troll spits. “Do you want to hear the stupidest thing in the entire fucking universe?”

Actually yes he can, but no he won't. He's in the news often enough as is, so he tells himself there will be _no_ fighting tonight. Dave swallows and rolls his eyes behind his shades, turning to look at the troll. “I think I’m already hearing it.” He means his voice, obviously.

However, Karkat continues: “Get off of that seat, it’s not yours. Leave. Get the fuck out. Right now.”

Dave looks incredulously at the troll. “I have more of a right to be here than you.”

“Excuse me? I didn’t say it was my seat, I just said it wasn’t yours.”

Dave refuses to give up the seat, wrinkling his nose. “It has my name on it, motherfucker.” He takes a sip of his drink, listening to the troll continue spewing horseshit. Maybe it's a race thing.

“Get the taintchafing fuck out of that seat,” Karkat threatens drunkenly. “I mean it.”

Dave runs a hand through his hair. This is the least interesting exchange he’s had in awhile. This troll must really be gone. “Who’re you waiting for?” He asks, though he does not give a fuck.

“How do you not understand common speak? I’m waiting for the queen of none of your fucking business.”

He’s already getting a headache listening to this dude. Dave rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses. “Listen buddy, just because your sea whore bitch queen is runnin’ the show doesn't mean you can just push humans around.” Dave licks his lips and looks at the troll. “In fact, I am literally the last person on this planet you should be talking to like that. Do you know who i am?” He hardly ever pulls that card, but seriously, this guy needs to back off.

“Just because you think you’re better than me doesn’t mean you get to take my seat, so fuck off. I could care less who you are.” Karkat is practically seething, but why?

He’s about had enough of this shit. Dave shakes his head. “Well unlucky for you, I’m the dude who’s gonna break your fucking legs if you don’t shut your mouth.” The bartender is watching, but he doesn't intervene. He's probably seen the celebrity argue too many times to know he's not going to break this troll's legs.

The troll, however, doesn’t know this. Karkat narrows his eyes, and then grabs the nearest thing on the counter to pour over Dave’s head. It's a jar of pickled eggs. The alien backs off, smirking. “You seem like you should get the fuck out of here to clean that shit off--!”

The bartender was moving far too slowly to stop Dave's fist from colliding with the troll's nose.

“Motherfuck!” Dave smells like garbage now and there's egg juice all over his suit. He barely had the coordination to hold his fist correctly. He can't feel his knuckles.

The troll was not expecting a human to be so randy. Karkat stumbles backwards a few times, growls, and then he's snapping forward with trained precision. Fists flying and jabbing like he normally practices drunk, he aims for all the soft spots humans present. Under the arm, behind the ear, the throat, the groin, the nose. His accuracy is not the best — he's a flailing ball of filed down stubs and fast action punches.

Fighting is exhausting in general, but Dave is wasted and he keeps flashstepping into stools and shit trying to avoid this tiny troll's fists. He brings some kicks into the mix because he's busy blocking his face. Dave aims for the stomach, because he wants to kick this little shithead away from him.

It takes considerable time before the troll starts biting. It's some real low-brow shit. He bites this guy anywhere he can manage to hold him still, which happens to be on the hand that misses his nose and skims his teeth. Fuck, there goes blood! He spits it on the floor. This is _too_ intense. How the hell does he back off? Karkat grabs another drink and tosses it at this guy. “Leave me alone!” He cries.

“You started it!” The human retorts, much like a twelve year old. Dave punches him rapid-fire style after getting his fist bitten into and he knees this troll in the crotch as soon as possible. He's wet for so many confusing reasons and he smells like alcohol and pickled eggs. Dave keeps his fists up even if he's trying to back up. He can already see several flashes, but not of police cars. Just pictures. Great.

Okay, the troll definitely felt that crotch pelt. Karkat breaks a bottle over this guy's head, trying to knock him the fuck out.

The last thing Dave manages to do before he hits the ground is sweep a leg under the troll's as he falls. Holy shit, that will probably hurt tomorrow. He is definitely bleeding.

Dave is hurting in a whole new way than he was earlier, but at least the pain is a good distraction. He's out of it enough to just not move after hitting the ground, so the bartender finally hops the counter to check on him and tell security to clear the area.

Humans are really god damn sensitive. The troll doesn't feel a lick of guilt for breaking this one. However, in the fray, Karkat completely forgot to lookout for his guest. Damn. He falls to the fucking floor and conks the hell out for like two minutes. He wakes up in handcuffs for drunk and disorderly conduct and tries to argue in angry Alternian about why he should be left alone.

Dave wakes up when the ambulance guys are bothering him, but he's super drunk and bloody and just a mess in general. He can’t remember what these people are even called. All he can think about is how he's in deeper shit than he was this morning, and now the whole fucking world is going to watch him getting his ass beat by a troll on Good Morning America tomorrow.

The EMTs can't conclude whether or not Dave has a concussion, because he's way too drunk to give any coherent answers to anything, plus he was just knocked around pretty good. This is embarrassing. The celebrity insists he doesn't need to visit a hospital, but nobody is listening to him because he's bleeding from the head.

The troll is light sensitive as fuck, and he didn't even realize there were cameras. His eyes feel blurry and he has a headache. Karkat keeps asking why he doesn't get an ambulance and where he's going. He gets taken to the county holding pin instead of the international cell that most trolls go to. What the fuck? He hates humans, and threatens to beat up more humans. Poor asshole is still hopped up on sugar. The fluorescent lights are too bright, and he hides under newspaper in the corner of the cell.

Dave, in contrast, is driven to the hospital, where doctors and nurses scramble to help him quickly because he's a celebrity. He gets treatment for all of his injuries in record time, and he is knocked the fuck out with the best morphine money can buy. Dave only wishes he could be knocked out like this forever. Not dead, just sleeping in an unfamiliar bed with lots of people shuffling around him. The dream.

He stays knocked the fuck out until the next day when he awakens sore as hell. Dave squints at the bright lights above him and reaches around for his shades, but he just can't find them. He's starting to panic right around the time a nurse is passing by, and she comes in to start checking up on him. He's vaguely fucked up on pain meds, which is neato, but he wants to get out of here. There's a bandage where the bite mark is, but that's so dramatic. He's fine. Dave can't even remember the fight all that well. He gets talked at about his injuries and he tells her that's all swell, but he wants to go now.

He puts his shades on and the nearest doctor jogs in to check on him before he can go. He's really hoping they let him leave as soon as possible, so he can enjoy the numb feeling in the back of a car as per usual instead of a hospital bed. Dave sits up and the doctor tells him he isn't concussed, but he should be careful because the cut on his head needed a couple of stitches. If he ever sees that troll again he's going to strangle him.

Unfortunately, he never gets the chance to act on those urges. As soon as he’s released from the hospital, his publicist calls him about the damage done publicly to his image (not that he’s ever cared much for it — what a shitty job to have), and updates him on the status of the bar and the troll he got into a fight with. The troll is alive and well, just in jail. Dave can no longer in good conscience strangle him, so he tells his manager to offer to bail the dude out instead as a gesture of goodwill.

Of course the troll tries to refuse the gesture of good faith. He doesn’t need any sort of charity and he wants to prove that to the asshole who decided to show him a flickering sight of fake kindness by lording their power over him. The troll keeps himself busy in the slammer by horrifying the human inmates with hisses, grunts, and a fairly decent number of insults. He only brawls when he’s drunk, so at least he has his wits about him enough not to get into another fist fight.

Eventually, he’s forced out of the cell. It turns out that whoever the anonymous (yeah, right) person who bailed him out was very adamant about him not having his way.  


Too bad he makes completely the wrong assumption about his benefactor. And that assumption lives on with the troll, for if he knew the truth, it would keep him up at night.


	2. Onward, Steed...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we ACTUALLY get into the shit. Warning for sorta psychological torture. (i.e. Here come the hospital scenes.)
> 
> Note from Mickey: If you're wondering why Mal decided to upload eight chapters at once without giving me proper warning or doing any editing, so am I. Just kidding. The first eight chapters are here because we HATE finding neat fics that only have one or two chapters to enjoy. So we hope you enjoy!

It’s been a whole year. Damn, Dave.

Very little has changed for our star; he’s still rich, famous, and irresponsible. Rose didn’t fly out to see him until much later into the last year, when she proceeded to lecture him about his choices throughout the changing seasons. He thinks next year he’ll go over to  _ her _ house and start tossing wine bottles out the window into the pool she doesn’t have. She’s like the mother he never had, but easily twice as hypocritical.

Speaking of addiction issues, he’s had very little time to get clean. Since all of humanity seems to love dropping to its knees to suckle the bulge of the Alternian empress, Dave has been forced to switch over to a new healthcare provider. It doesn’t sound like a big deal now, sure, but it’s paperwork he doesn’t want to provide. He doesn’t know who his parents were, or any preexisting conditions he might have thanks to them. He wasn’t exactly paying attention to that kind of shit when he was living on the streets.

He’s been tearing out his hair for weeks now, struggling to convince both himself and his manager that  _ yes_, he  _ can _ go without excessive drinking and recreational drug use for a medical check-up. He’s never really had to go to the doctor before, but now it’s a requirement. Worldwide free healthcare sounds neat, but there has to be some sort of catch here. Dave is getting all kinds of paranoid over what exactly that salty sea queen is plotting for humankind, and Rose has done very little over the phone to calm his nerves.

In any event, he’s definitely at his peak physically! He’s as quick as he supposes he’s always been, probably stronger than ever (?), and everything important is in working order. Dave hasn’t been sleeping with people since he stopped going out, so he’s not one hundred percent on that last one. It’s fine. He’ll do okay in there. It’s just the doctor, it’s just a troll. He really hopes there’s no prostate exam, but with his luck that’ll be the first thing to do. In fact, now that he thinks about it, that is exactly the kind of thing the Empress would specifically line out to happen to his asshole during a regular check-up.

Elsewhere, there’s this guy just going about his business. Cleaning a saw, yeah. It’s started to gather a little bit too much grime, so into the wash it goes. Karkat whistles under his breath as he scrubs, the glasses on his nose falling down a bit. They aren’t his own, but they are regulatory as the scrubs he’s forced to wear. Crockercorp red, how disgusting. At least the human blood tends to blend in. 

He’s been assigned to the lowest of the low, the most degrading work known to trollkind. And it’s despicable. He would lament about it now, but he’s too busy cleaning his good saw to care to break the fourth wall. 

When he finishes with that mess, he washes his hands (no gloves needed) and then goes back to checking his mass collection of anatomy books. He has at least seven giant honkers displayed proudly in his operating room, and he refuses to let any of the other trolls in the hospital touch them. They’re his, damn it, and they have all of his personal notes. 

He checks the online chart, because he’s supposed to be off work already but fuck his life, and pushes the glasses up his nose again. The mandatory windpipe covering should probably be all over his face, but he hates that thing because it restricts his volume. It’s the one regulation he regularly breaks without giving a fuck. Who cares if the drones cite him? It’s not like they’re going to--

Shit. That’s the door. He gathers up one of his most disgusted grimaces, and points to the table. “Get the fuck out of your clothes, and get the fuck up there. I want to go back to my hive, so the faster this goes the better.” 

Karkat walks back over to the chart, not bothering to look at this douche. What’s he even supposed to be doing today? He lets out a long, low whistle as his claws tap the keys. There’s a fuscia seal on this document, so this guy must have done something to piss _someone_ off. He would congratulate him if he cared enough to express the sentiment in English. 

“So this is probably not going to be a fun visit for you. I’m assuming they already briefed you on the shit you’re doing up front? If not, I am not the fucking guy to do it.” He opens a cabinet, and starts removing a rather large scalpel and a pair of shearing scissors. 

He wasn’t all that nervous when he got here, no more than reasonable, but it’s the scalpel and scissors that really make Dave want to pull up his legs and disappear. “I was under the impression this was a regular check up. Sorry if it ain’t your job, but you’re gonna be the guy to tell me what the fuck those are for.” His heart is beating at least two times as fast, and he is dead sober. His hands are sweating, itching to grab a sword he knows he doesn’t have.

“Regular alright. I’ve done at least five of these today.” He snips the scissors once in a bit of a menacing fashion. He definitely takes a bit of a sick pleasure out of this. His eyes, bright and yellow, carefully scan the human’s face. “Usually I can manage to catch the globes in time, but occasionally they drop to the floor. You wouldn’t believe how easily they bounce.”  

A part of the human is relieved, because there is absolutely  _ no way _ this dude is being serious. Is this a joke? Is the Sea Queen of Space fucking with him? He waits a good forty seconds for troll Ashton Kutcher to enter the exam room, and then he speaks. “You’re kidding.” He’s on the verge of going into full-on fight or flight mode and stabbing this troll with his own scalpel, but he just squeezes the padded medical tableseat he’s sitting on and listens to the protective paper crinkle under his grip.

“Of course not.” The doctor scoffs, as if it’s as stupid as suggesting he’s going to jump out the window. “It’s ridiculous that they’re even outside the body to begin with. The bleeding goes away with a few swabs of iodine, although the effects on vocal administration have always fascinated me.” He walks towards the door, hitting a small button that turns the entire frame red. They’re locked in. He takes a step towards his patient. Brandishing the shears in front of him, he snips them again. “Nothing to worry about. It’s not like you can fight it anyway, with a fucking fuschia seal. Drop your pants.” 

Dave has  _ everything _ to worry about. He can never tell when trolls are being sarcastic, mostly because a good percentage of them don’t know what the word means. He is still fully fucking clothed, thanks very much. He would not run down the hall pantsless, or jump out the window. Both of which sound like far better options than sitting here and getting castrated by this asshole.

Karkat takes two lunges forward, moving fast as a fucking piston. He swerves, pulling a cotton swab out of his sleeve and taking a swipe at this guy’s hand. He turns the fuck around after that, a satisfied little smirk on his face. The shears go back in the cupboard, the swab goes on a little plastic petri dish. “Okay, thank fuck that’s over. You have no idea how much I enjoyed that.” He turns to the computer monitor and types a few things in. 

This human is about to have a fucking conniption right here and now. He’s going to strangle this oddly familiar doctor, and he’s going to throw his limp, gray body out the window for the Empress to see. Dave is on edge regardless of the joke, and he at least wants to sue. “Oh, you got me.  _ It’s only a prank, bro, it’s fine.  _ Sure. I can’t tell you how relieved I am that I get to keep my balls.” He sounds slightly more unhappy than usual, which isn’t to say that he always sounds displeased. Or is it?

“It’s not a prank, you fucker. Seriously, it’s like you know nothing about your own species.” Karkat shakes his head. “I was trying to elicit a fear response to see how dangerous you are. Congratulations, you’re as soft as a meow beast. Honestly. Now the sweat results go to the lab and your pheromones get analysed to send directly to the mainframe. They want to know how you tick for some reason.” He shrugs. It’s not his job to explain politics.   

“I have had it up to  _ here _ with you fucking people. You could’ve just asked for some hair or something to clone me with instead of going about it in the most ass-backwards possible way.” Dave swallows, but he still feels like throwing up.

“We don’t want to clone your dumb ass. Jesus, you really know nothing about anything, do you?” He turns back to the patient, pushing the computer away and apparently done with it. “It needs to be sweat produced by fear for a full, proper test. It’s like you just woke up yesterday, rolled out of your ‘coon and bumped your head on the fucking shelf above your troll Snoop Barkbeast poster and fell all the way to the ground. Excuse me if I have to pull a few fucking tricks to keep my job and do it well. At least you still have your _testicles_.” He glances to the pants of this human at the same moment he makes finger quotation marks.  

“I don’t understand your troll references, because I am not a troll. I don’t get why you’re my new doctor anyway when, judging by that look, you don’t seem to know anything about human anatomy. Why does  _ she _ care if I’m dangerous if she’s got a bunch of giant robots to do her bidding? What the fuck does this witch have to fear?” Dave wants answers, but he really doubts he’s going to get them from this dick. He's not even sure why he's allowed himself to get so riled up. He needs a drink.

“How should I know?” He really doesn’t care. “The real joke of the matter is that you’re also due for sterilization today. But that’s done tastefully with lazers.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m due for  _ what_? Back the hell up, stop the car, and let me out of it.” He is currently experiencing the urge to tuck his junk inside of his body. Maybe it is kind of impractical to have it all hanging out.

The doctor frowns. This part is not as pleasant. “Well I honestly would have hoped they told you that. I mean, for one thing, it really lets me play with your imagination and makes my job easier. For another, it’s just fucking cruel not to let a man know he’ll be utterly fruitless for the rest of his pathetically lonely life.” Karkat turns to the last, unexplored corner of the room. He flicks the switch on a machine that looks sort of like the light that hangs over a dentist’s chair, only it’s bright green and humming loudly. 

“I’m what?” Dave really doesn’t get it. Well, he understands what he means, but he doesn’t  _ get _ it. He doesn’t think they can do that. That just isn’t allowed.

“Seriously, I’ve heard it isn’t painful. But even if it was, you really don’t have a choice. Strip the fuck down and come over here.” 

The human is vaguely sure this is totally fucking illegal. Even if it isn’t, he is going to fight for his right to spawn little Daves if he wants to. “Uh, no. No, I’m not doing that. You can take my baby gravy from my cold, dead corpse. I’m leaving.” Dave stands, with absolutely no intention to strip down. The fight or flight feeling is back, and he’s not even fantasizing about cutting this dude. He just wants to get out before he faints like a chump.

“Look.” Karkat narrows his eyes. “I can sedate you. It is completely in my power, and I would even be clapped on the back for it. I don’t want to do that, because I think it’s dumb and the effects don’t wear off all that quickly. But hey, your fucking choice. I don’t care if you can’t speak for three days. That actually sounds like a sort of Nirvana, some sort of twisted macaroni corkscrew of an existence that is too good to be true.” He pulls a small syringe out of a desk drawer, and uncaps the tip. “This is my last nice-guy offer.”

Dave takes a quick sweep of the room behind his aviators, back to the red-framed door. His heart is pounding. Now is the time to get a swab from this dude’s palms. He sees several things he can toss at this doctor, none of which are in his immediate reach. He’d have better luck just tackling the troll. He considers it; being easily the fastest dude in the world has its perks, including time itself not being able to handle how stone cold fucking cool he is. The point here is that he could run for the window, or break the lock behind him, or do something. Anything to retain some kind of dignity and the ability to have children he doesn’t really know if he wants or not but thought he’d have a lot more time to decide on, future meteor-bound babies aside.

Rolling his eyes, Karkat steps forward with three, simple steps. He’s dealt with a lot of assholes like this before. “I warned you, you slick palmed prick.” He takes a jab with the needle, aiming for the hip. 

The prick is effective, but Dave doesn’t fall to the floor immediately. There’s a lot less dignity in the way he shoves the doctor away and flashsteps right into the exam table. His leg is the first part of him to fall asleep, so his next few quick movements are not very effective. It’s like that night in the bar a year ago, but he’s completely sober and a lot more afraid of this troll now than he was then and he doesn't even recognize him.

    Karkat stumbles but collects himself against the wall, trying to stay out of the fray. He crosses his arms and shakes his head as he watches the ultimate failure of this guy’s escape, but he wonders still if Dave's fast, twitchy movements are a result of man's natural speed when frightened or just a trick of the light. “It’s always the ones who don’t fight who try to run away.” He sighs. 

    Hours later, Dave is bound to wake up with a numb tongue and a small headache. He’s in an empty ‘coon storage cot, like a water bed but with slime. The doctor is nowhere in sight, but there are nurses everywhere. One of them explains to Dave how the tongue was the last organ that the serum wore off on. She tells him not to use any microwaves for the next twenty four hours, and that he might need some extra help aiming his urine stream for a week or so. If he suffers any discomfort, he can call the office. Then she leaves without dismissing him. She has a lot on her mind.

Dave makes several aggravating attempts to speak before he gives up, rolling out of the cot and reaching up with both hands to feel at his face. It might be a little vain to worry about his appearance first, but hey, he’s a celebrity. His looks are pretty damn central to his image. His lips feel dry, but it’s very awkward and drooly trying to lick them, so he pats his pockets and uses chapstick instead. He finds a small mirror on top of a desk in the mostly-empty room, so he uses that to ease his nerves. He’s fine, just a little sore from bumping into the table at such a high speed earlier.

He doesn’t remember if he came in here with anything besides his wallet and keys, so he opts to get the fuck outta dodge as soon as possible. Dave puts his sunglasses back on his face and walks into the hallway like he knows exactly where he’s going despite being so disoriented. He grabs a handful of lollipops from the front desk once he’s on the ground floor, and he manages to get past the hustling, bustling trolls without a single word spoken.

He makes it to his car without incident, but he makes a stop at Dunkin’ Donuts before heading home. The exchange between himself and the stunned cashier is frustrating, but he eventually gets his point across by pointing at the donuts he wants. He forgets the lollipops in one of his cupholders.

The first thing he does once he’s safely at home is sit on the couch. The second thing he does is shove a chocolate cake donut into his mouth. The third thing he does is groan very loudly, because his taste buds are totally numb.

Dave pushes the box of sweets away for now, because eating just feels awkward and pointless at the moment. He’ll probably eat the entire box himself later. He watches the news briefly because he can’t stand the coverage these days, then he tries to watch a rerun of some TV show that had its heyday in the 80s. He’s seen some of it, but he didn’t own a television those days, so he’s not exactly up to date. He’s avoiding even thinking about the forced sterilization, because he did not wake up this morning expecting to have that stupid, natural, human freedom taken away from him. Dave hates that he didn’t know what he had until it was gone.

It’s not long after he bores of sitcom noise when he realizes again that his  _ taste buds  _ are  _ numb_. He is wasted before five in the afternoon and he has several phone conversations he won’t remember tomorrow. Rose won’t remind him because she knows it always hurts his pride to hear that he was drunk-crying unintelligibly again. His manager will probably remind him because she’ll want to rub in the fact that his no-drinking streak only lasted until the doctor’s appointment was over. Pathetic.

When he starts to sober up later that night he decides he’s not into it, and while he’s on this self-destructive binge he might as well embarrass himself in public. Dave drives back to the bar that troll he brawled with was probably banned from for life, and he buys drugs in the bathroom from a trusted source. The dude missed Dave this month, apparently. He was worried, but he’s reassured that there’s nothing to worry about. Dave feels like he’s twenty-one all over again, which is a very good feeling now that he’s finally past thirty.

The night is a blur that he would honestly rather not remember anyway. Although he isn’t immediately sure how he got there the next morning, Dave took someone home for the first time in a long time and he didn’t let them stay the night. He doesn’t remember if they were a dude or a chick, nor that they tried to grab his keys and he threatened them with a sword to get them to leave. The keys explain how he got home, at least. He finished half of the donuts sometime after the sex before he finally passed out on the kitchen floor, completely naked.

Dave isn’t sure how he’s even alive at this point, but he spends the morning in bed, munching on donuts and ignoring calls.


	3. how dumb could HE be

Two weeks later, Karkat Vantas has performed many more forced sterilizations. It’s not that he enjoys torturing humans so much as he enjoys feeling superior. He tends not to want to do much more than the grunt work, the plowing and the sawing and the spooking that doctors normally perform. He stays out of the lab and out of the fucking consultation room and everyone is happy. 

That’s why, when he comes in Tuesday morning to a suspicious fuschia folder on his desk, he’s annoyed as shit. It’s not that he doesn’t respect HIC, because she’s basically the most badass troll there is, but that it’s extra work for him to HAVE to do. You just can’t say no to the fish bitch. He licks the edge of his thumb, and then scrolls through the files. 

It’s a detailed report and instruction guide (all in a glittery pink font that strains the sight globes) about what to do with patient D. Strider. He sort of remembers the guy, but he honestly didn’t strike that much of an impression. With a little more pondering, Karkat remembers the similar pink seal on his folder. He skims through the pages, wanting to get whatever the fuck it is he has to do over with. He’s not even curious about the results of the sweat swab. 

It only takes him three minutes (he’s a fast skim-reader) to get to the end of the document. Then he’s pulling the phone off the wall, dialing a few buttons with grubby sausage fingers, and clearing his throat. 

One ring. 

A second. 

It goes to voicemail, and he’s already annoyed. 

“This is the Alternian First clinic calling to remind you that you have a lot of shit going on, and that it’s pertinent to actually PICK UP CALLS from this number. I mean you could be dying for all you know, we could have found a massive fucking organism growing in your head and feeding off of the two thinkpan cells that you’re so graciously rubbing together for the world to think that you pass as a normal functioning human being.” There’s a pause as he shuffles the spectacles up his nose. “Anyway. You aren’t dying. Yet. That’s a good thing, open a bottle of spirits and crack it over the numbskull of the next philanthropic shit to walk through your door. But because you aren’t dying, so sad too bad, I need you to report back the fuck to me pronto, because neither of us are done yet. Surprise, surprise, I know. It’s almost as if you pissed off someone on purpose to get probed by me. Congratulations.” He sounds more apathetic than scolding. 

“Come by my office tomorrow, because this is a rush order and she can’t wait for fuck knows why. If you don’t come to me,” there’s an eerie pause if you don’t know he’s just looking at his dumb co-worker through the window of his office door. “I WILL come to you.” And the line drops dead.

It is way too early to be accepting phone calls. Yeah, he should be at work today, but he’s been on this awesome streak of not doing anything he’s supposed to. His manager has come by a couple of times to assess the damage apparently done by a simple medical check-up, and she feels pretty bad for poking fun at Dave when she figures out why he was so upset in the first place. However, his behavior is not cute, and he’s one bad trip away from being just another celebrity biography special on Entertainment News. She’s taken it upon herself to call Rose, the only person she knows of who can get her client back into shape.

Dave wouldn’t appreciate her help if he knew about it, and in fact, he’s probably just going to tell his friend to stay away. There’s a part of him that knows without Rose reminding him over the phone that this is  _ exactly _ the kind of thing the Batterwitch wants. It isn’t as fun for her, but if Dave destroys himself at yet another rager pity party, that’s one less rebellious human to deal with. She’ll probably kiss his corpse at the funeral with her salty fish lips.

He hears the voicemail around noon the next day, the usual time he drags himself out of bed and eats an unhealthy breakfast. He found his phone inside of a shoe in the living room. Dave hasn’t been on a streak of bad behavior this extreme since he first had money, and even then he knew he had to stop eventually. Right now there’s no end in sight, because sometimes it’s really difficult being one of two humans who know for a fact their race is doomed within one lifetime. It’s hard fighting a losing fight, especially if there’s only a handful of humans who really understand what he’s trying to do in his work.

He takes a piss, brushes his teeth, gets dressed in clothes that look just sloppy enough to be stylish, and he puts on his sunglasses. His eyes burn, his head hurts, and his stomach is churning. The last time he went to the clinic he ended up trying to escape. Maybe this time he should take a weapon in his pocket. As if the trolls wouldn’t confiscate it upon his arrival. Instead of trying to fit a sword into his pants, Dave takes a couple of shots in the kitchen and waits for a driver to come get him. He eats some too-hot pizza rolls and cookies-n’-cream ice cream right out of the tub (hey, it’s his house). He gets the shit scared out of him when a stranger gets up off of the couch, pulls on their clothes, and leaves, but he likes the one night stands who know what they’re about.

When the driver arrives he’s buzzing pleasantly enough to not worry about his headache, but he isn’t tipsy so he takes another shot and runs out the door to get into the car parked outside of his house. Dave’s own parking last night was obviously pretty bad, and the driver points out how he didn’t even seem to notice there were bushes in the general vicinity of where he’s parked. Dave tells him to drive.

Once he’s at the hospital, he feels blessed to not be as nervous as he was last time. In fact, he feels just fine. Dave checks in and immediately gets ushered to the back by a nurse, because he’s a very special case, of course. He already forgot what he was supposed to be here for, but at least he looks like he knows what he’s doing. He braces himself to see the doctor whose name he doesn’t remember despite this nurse troll having said it at least three times so far (about the same amount of times he’s asked). She must think he’s so stupid, and the joke's on her, because she’s right. He has absolutely no excuse, but before he knows it the nurse is gone and he’s waiting inside the same exam room he got his junk sterilized in. Dave lies down on the crinkly paper and considers taking a nap, because doctors always take forever getting where they need to be.

    Shit, Karkat walked in on a sleeping patient. He does what he was instructed to do in such a case, coughing loudly into his arm. When that doesn’t work, he drops his clipboard onto the floor. Trolls are pretty specific about touching a sleeping patient, and how much of a no-no it is. If they can handle one thing, it’s consent when someone is unconscious. Extreme social taboo. When the clipboard thing doesn’t work out (really?) Karkat decides to blast the fucking speakers with Celine Dion. It can be heard down the hall in the lobby. 

He isn’t sleeping, he’s just far too lazy to sit up. How does it feel to wait, doctor? A taste of his own medicine, if you will. When Dave is finished feeling clever and three minutes of Celine Dion troll torture has gone by, he sits up in on the soft, yet crinkling table, and runs a hand through his hair. “What’s up, I’m here.” It’s the same doctor as last time, which Dave expected, but the urge to strangle the unqualified troll has since gone away.

The look on his face is sharp enough to split single-celled organisms. He sucks in a half-assed growl, and pushes his doctor glasses up his nose. “Next time you decide to grace my presence, try not to fall a-fucking-sleep before I even get through the door.” He walks over towards the cabinet, pulls out a monotone gray dress, and then tosses it towards Strider’s face. “Put this on. I can leave, if you’re really feeling modest. But your vaguely jelly filled sac of a body really does nothing for me.” He crosses his arms, a patented scowl that looks ridiculous but authoritative. 

Lucky for Dr. Vantas and nurses everywhere, Dave is not feeling shy today. He slides off of the table, not bothering to stop the protective paper from tearing and sliding off with him, hands going toward the buttons at the top of his shirt. He pops each one out of the little threaded hole carefully, squinting at the nametag on the doctor’s stupid red medical coat. “Your name’s familiar; have we met before?” Dave drops his shirt next to the dull hospital gown on the table, and then he drops his pants to the floor. “I don’t mean here, in the hospital. Before you neutered me.”

He takes a moment to kick off his shoes, then puts everything he was wearing on top of the table. Dave doesn’t put on the gown until he’s completely naked, so it’s possible that his doctor gets quite an eyeful. He doesn’t remember the name of the troll he was in that bar fight with, mostly because he tried to distance himself from the incident immediately upon waking up the next morning.

     “You wouldn’t forget me.” He stares him down in the face, not making any moves for any kind of direct staring by eye contact. It’s a dominance tactic. “Not to mention that if that were the case, it would be totally fucking unethical for me to be your doctor. Maybe you know my hatchmate.” He waits until Strider is done with the changing, because fuck that noise, and then he pulls a clipboard out of his pocket. “I doubt that you’ll want any of the optional procedures on here, like the rhinestone sight globe implantations, but here’s a list of all the surgery we’ve been cleared to do. Some of this shit looks completely irresponsible, the kind of glamour shit you would see on a novelty pet.” He scoffs. “I need a signature for optional procedures. Besides that, we’re testing more nerves today.”

Dave exhales like a five year old, rolling his eyes behind the shades he adamantly refuses to remove. He leans back against the table, at ease for the most part considering he’s not intimidated by small trolls with big needles anymore, and that he’s drunk. Mostly the latter.

  Karkat moves back to the cupboard, clipboard hands free. He pulls out a little cup, and moves back to place it square on the chest of the human. “Piss in it when you leave and send it back to toxicology. It’s not my job to mess with your urine, so don’t make it.” he pulls a tiny little hammer out of his pocket. 

“I’m gonna tell you right now, that isn’t a good idea.” He sits back up on the table because he knows what that stupid little hammer is for. If this troll misuses it, he’s going to shove it through his thick gray skull.

    “You really don’t have a choice.” He taps one of his knees. Writes down a response. 

“Listen, Dougie, I’m-- You know what, whatever.” Dave rubs his face with one of his hands, not entirely invested in this argument to begin with. He doesn’t want to resist this idiot because the last time he did so, he ended up knocked out and speechless for the rest of the night.

  “Don’t even think about sneaking in fake piss, because we will genetic code match the shit out of you.” He tries to erase his pity for this human with pure and unadulterated disgust. “This is just figuring out exactly the kind of shock collar she puts on you.” 

“I wasn’t thinking about using anyone else’s piss. Do you really think they’d arrest me for the possession and distribution in my blood stream at the moment? I can’t count on two hands the amount of times I’ve skipped out on a jail sentence. There’s nothing money can’t buy, including your precious sea queen.”

    Karkat shrugs. “I’ve seen them kill a troll for less, you gaping ignoramus.” He writes a few more reactions down. “It doesn’t help that you’re on some extremely high dosage of god knows whatever the fuck right now. I would say pain meds, but I don’t take you for that kind of guy. When you go up enough, you have to burn out eventually.” He writes more shit down, turning his back to this douche. 

    “Well. That’s about all I have for you today, Strider. Hopefully I never have to see your ugly mug again.” 

“Fuck you too, Hugh Laurie.” Dave tuned so far out of that mini-lecture he’s practically on another planet by the time he realizes the doctor had finished talking. “You’re the absolute  _ worst _ doctor I’ve ever met in my life, and fuck, I have met so many. Not like, at regular hospital visits or anything, just at parties and shit. Speaking of which, I am in the market for probably anything you are selling. Ever since trolls took over the healthcare industry it’s become increasingly fucking difficult to get good shit from my regulars.” As far as he’s aware, trolls don’t have any sort of conscience. If a human has the money to destroy their internal organs, they should be allowed to do it, right? Totally. That is exactly how this guy’s alien thought process must work.

Unfortunately, it isn’t. After being stone cold rejected by the Galaxy’s Worst Doctor, Dave pees in a cup and wonders what exactly the trolls will find. Probably everything. They’re so thorough.

He doesn’t understand why he needed to get into a hospital gown to piss in a cup, because he’s sure as shit not doing any surgery while he’s fucked up. Dave doesn’t want rhinestones on his eyeballs, mostly because bedazzling probably has some sort of effect he’s too drunk to consider. He bets it looks cool, though. He hates his doctor, absolutely loathes this pretentious fucking troll with every third fiber of his being. The rest is reserved for his hatred of the Alternian Empress, who also hates him in a jerk-offy kind of way. Dave asks every passing troll what Dr. Vantas’ qualifications are to work with humans, or even breathe the same air as he does, but no one seems to have a satisfying answer. When the doctor leaves the room, he empties out that little jar of cotton balls all over the floor before he dips out himself.

An entire week passes before he hears from the hospital again; his results are in, and they are not good. Dave is nervous for about thirty whole seconds before the troll secretary on the phone informs him that he should be taking some human vitamins. Said vitamins will be delivered personally by his doctor, Dr. Karkat Vantas, as an apology from the Condesce herself for his previous poor service experience. The troll makes no mention of the drugs and alcohol in his system, so he asks about all that himself, to which she tells Dave that yes, they noticed, and no, they don’t care. He finds that a little hard to believe, but then again, he’s not dealing with humans here. He tells the secretary that he doesn’t either, and then hangs up.

The doctor should be regularly swinging by because Dave can’t be trusted with a prescription for an entire 

bottle of Human Vitamin Pills (what a vague name, he wonders what that’s about). It may have something to do with his gravitation toward Human Poison, or just with the fact that the Empress heard that he hates Dr. Vantas. Either way, Dave will make sure to ham it up every time that stupid, unqualified troll knocks on his door.


	4. The visits haunted by Taunts

    He can’t fucking believe his life. He hates everything about his job, there is literally no longer any redeeming factors. Karkat vantas was just pulled away from a totally needed surgery on some asshole’s bowel tract in order to deliver VITAMINS to the most fucked out asshole there ever was. He’s done his research by now, to the extent that he knows he thinks he’s big because he’s a low level hollywood douche. Whatever, it’s not like Karkat cares all that much about human movies. 

     The taxi that he takes from work to the mini mansion is bumpy as hell. He’s left pondering just how much hatred he has for this douche, complete platonic loathing. Karkat wonders what it would be like if Mr. Bigshot had to squeeze into his tiny ass hovel all the time. He’s probably combust from the indignity.

Contemplating the illicit anger, Karkat steps out of the taxi with a slamh of his door. He walks up to the GATE, and pushes the button to buzz himself in. “Open up, or come out to see me. I don’t care. I’m not a fucking drug monkey, I have a degree.” 

Dave wasn’t expecting the troll to show up the same day he was informed he’d be receiving vitamins, but it doesn’t matter to this Oscar-winning director, producer, and screenwriter. Low level his ass. He can hear the request to open the gate from the pool, where he was getting some much-needed cardio or whatever it is that’s worked out during swimming. He is hot, mostly undressed, and soaking wet when he approves the request for the gates to open. There’s no way he’s stepping all the way out there to meet with this stupid alien. Dr. Vantas can come to the front door himself.

He isn’t wearing his dumbass doctor costume, because who wears scrubs in the real world? Karkat is in a reputable and classy dingy gray sweater. Little moth balls line the thing, having been washed so many times. He looks frazzled, and like his mind is elsewhere, because it is. He was hoping to drop the bottle off somewhere, but he has SPECIFIC instructions to hand something over to Dave’s hand. It’s this stupid fucking greeting card sealed in pink glitter. He’s starting to grow more suspicious about this entire backwards situation. 

Karkat walks through the grass and not on the sidewalk, scuffing his shoes with mud. He knocks on the front door, because somehow that didn’t open when the gate did. What the fuck kind of circus is this shit?

Dave steps back into his own home, looking around. Someone comes by a few times a week to clean every mess he makes, so the place is always in good shape. It’s like he’s got no irresponsible tendencies whatsoever, like his binging never happens. He leaves the bottles of alcohol where they rest on the kitchen counter and in the sink, but he does stuff a small bag in the waistband of his swim trunks just for the moment.

No, wait. On second thought, he grabs a family-sized bag of powdered Hostess Donettes and leaves it in plain view on the coffee table. Since he likes living on the edge and will possibly need to kill a troll in his underwear, Dave feels under the counters to make sure his spare sword is still there. His one night stands sure like to steal weird stuff, so it’s always best to check. He then takes his sweet time inhaling the incredibly unhealthy contents of that small bag before he tosses the evidence in the trash bin. He checks the time, then finally walks to the front door and opens it, coming face-to-face with his least favorite doctor ever.

“It’s you. I didn’t think doctors still did house calls.” Dave is aware at least that this one shouldn’t, so it’s kind of funny that Dr. Vantas is on delivery duty. He is nothing but a drug mule for the Condesce. How demeaning.

   Exactly the thoughts of the troll. His nose wrinkles as he looks Dave up and down, his eyes first falling to the powdery white shit all over him, and then to the fact that he’s fucking soaked. “Believe me, Gatsby, I didn’t think doctors did this kind of shit either.” He smacks the valentine from HIC against the wet chest. It makes a satisfying sound. 

He glistens in the sun like a Twilight vampire. He’s so tan and handsome. “I didn’t know trolls could read,” Dave takes the envelope in his hands, turning it over and shaking it free of some of the glitter on the outside. “This is exactly the kind of shit I like to see. Did you pick up my bills on the way up here, too?”

    “I can read over ten human dialects, numbskull. Just because your fiction is idiotically placed, titled, and secured doesn’t mean that I can’t analyse the shit out of it. And you walked right out of one of Fitzgerald’s fever dreams.” He is attempting to stare this douche down. “I am NOT your maid. I am not your LUSUS. I am doing my patriotic duty, so fuck you.”

“I didn’t know you could get a degree in being a drug mule, but sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Doctor Horrible.”

  “Well I minored in SHUT THE FUCK UP.” He flips him off, and then shoves the vitamins in his hands. “I hope these taste horrible.” 

“What are they? The troll on the phone wouldn’t tell me what was in them or why I need to take them. Do I look like the kind of guy who just puts stuff into his body without asking any questions?” Dave is, for once, without sunglasses. They’re somewhere by the pool, because he’s not dumb enough to swim with them.

    Now he actually looks amused. Or maybe it’s a grimace. “Your omega-3 levels are low.” He waits for it to hit him. It doesn’t. Karkat takes a deep breath, turns around, and begins 

to walk away. 

    “Fish oil. Although if you’re asking my official opinion, I would suggest you stop DOING COCAINE.” 

“Polite pass,” He tosses the bottle at the doctor’s back. “On both counts. I do what I want, and that includes not giving a shit about your overlord.” Dave rips the valentine in half without even looking at it (wow, look at those shiny muscles), and he throws the pieces at the troll as well. Glitter flies everywhere.

“See you next week, buddy!” Dave wants to chase him down and beat him up, but technically the troll didn’t touch him all that much during this exchange, nor did he try particularly hard to piss him off. Dr. Vantas is some sort of mystery he isn’t interested in solving at the moment, because if there’s anyone who knows best about facades, it’s this guy. There is no deeper truth beneath anything, including himself and his work. It only means what it means to each individual; Dave isn’t who he is to Dr. Vantas to Rose, and vice-versa. Deep thoughts about Troll Dougie Howser over there. Dave slams the door and gets back into the pool.

   He could care less about this douche having a healthy immune system, but he doesn’t like shit being thrown at him. Karkat grimaces deeper, muttering something about how he doesn’t know how this douche is alive, and then walking back towards the street. He just keeps walking for blocks, and doesn’t call a taxi until he is calmed down enough to speak. However, the moment that the taxi driver mentions the glitter, he loses it, and has one of the most cathartic screams of his life. He yells every last insult on his mind at this poor driver, a man who has no idea what he did to deserve the wrath of Dr. Karkat Vantas. 

  What pisses him off is the inefficiency of the task. No, what pisses him off is how useless the delivery is. No, what REALLY pisses him off is the attitude of Dave Strider. He can’t do shit about it either, because he loses his license to practice if he says no. His entire life. Everything he’s worked for, the meager scraps of a career he almost had, all for nothing. He bares his teeth, and tries not to think about his visit the next week. 

If there’s one thing Dave won’t put in his body, it’s fish. Or at least, it’s alien fish. He wants to stay as far away from the Evil Queen as long as possible even though hei knows meeting her is inevitable. As far as he can tell, she’s got some kind of hate boner for him that is probably the only reason he’s still alive, and Rose hardly tells him anything about his future in that aspect. He knows something cringe-worthy is in his crystal ball.

  The next few weeks are miserable. The first batch of presents is an oh-so-subtle mound of whale sperm perfume capped with another card. Who the fuck wants to smell like this?? What are the medical ramifications here? He’s starting to catch on to his role, and it just makes him sick to his nutrition-processor. The next week is an assortment of nail polish, the week after is a fruit basket where every bit is raw chum, and the next is baked salmon in a bucket. He can’t believe how fucking lewd she’s getting, and that one he honestly just plops on the doorstep and leaves. Each week has a progressively bigger card, and each week the orders seem longer and more played out. He’s actually considering quitting, seeing as Dave is in worse and worse shape every time he checks up on him. He looks less healthy and less full of life, drained and empty. It has to wear on a guy, knowing how much effort someone is putting in to fuck with him. If Karkat cared, he would probably say something. 

Dave has challenged himself to answer the door high on something different every time, just to piss the doctor off. Every week he throws the Condesce’s gifts at Dr. Vantas’ back, and every week he talks his little gray ears off about something totally fucking pointless. Small talk is completely unnecessary here, but it feels like a tiny justice to piss off this delivery troll as long as he can’t piss off the fish bitch.

  “You don’t get it, do you.” He slams a framed picture of a sexually explicit dolphin to the fingers of this guy. “She’s priming you for slaughter. Or worse.” It’s his responsibility to educate. 

This one he’s keeping. Kind of looks like fine art. “Sometimes a guy likes to be wooed, old fashioned-like. Your Empress really knows what she wants and usually goes for it, but that’s not the way to my heart.”

  He clicks his tongue. “You’re actually angling to be her kismesis?” 

“Oh, shit no. Disgusting. I want to marry her.” He’s totally joking. He sets the picture aside and leans against the doorframe. Dave never invites the doctor in, but he wonders what his first name is. He’s been thoroughly fucked up every time it’s been told to him.

  “If I understand the concept of marriage based on the pop culture references of male and female mixed couples, it sounds exactly like a kismesis.” 

“You don’t understand the concept of anything human, so stop right now before you embarrass yourself further.” He’s only tipsy today because he forgot about the delivery, so he’s at least more eloquent than last week’s acid drop.

   “Oh yeah, excuse me for living on your planet for fifteen years and actually keeping my gander globes open. I bet you couldn’t tell me how long that is in sweeps. Unlike you and your shit breath, I am actually a multicultural genius.” Have his insults been losing some of their bite? Hell no. 

Hell yes. Dave used to get a headache just from listening to this guy screech at him, but now he just wants to laugh. He did, two weeks ago, when he was very high on good ol’ weed.

  “I just want to let you know that you’re pushing dangerous territory. And while I hate every inch of your idiotic existence, it’s probably my job as a cultural atoche, not to mention a medical professional, to warn you just how deep into her hole you’re digging your sterilized nutsack.” He raises his eyebrows. “Very deep.” 

Dave’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the mention of the sterilization, something he will probably never get over. Is it a pride thing? A dude thing? Both? Yes. “I know what I’m doing, but thanks for your concern. I had no idea you could be so compassionate, like a real living being with empathy.”

  “I just developed the empathy bladder last week. And yeah, that is a totally legitimate anatomical organ that trolls have.” Karkat looks beyond Dave, his eyes flicking over the disarray of the home. 

“An anatomical organ, huh? What other kinds of organs do you have? That’s not what I mean, I mean like, I meant to imply that you have no medical knowledge of anything and I seriously doubt you’ve been to school. It wasn’t a dick joke, for once.” Dave purses his lips.

   “Thanks for clarifying.” He takes a step towards him. “I was so worried about you formally asking about my reproductive organs, wow. Crisis averted. If you want to learn about troll anatomy, it’s not my fucking job to instruct you. Those who can’t do, teach. But I can very much do. I never went to school for shit, who needs school. I passed all the tests myself.”

Dave opens his mouth, then he closes it. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening, but are you saying that you want to do me?” He’s never slept with a troll for good reason; he’s got every right to worry about getting his dick bitten off by an agent of the Alternian Empress.

    Karkat’s face instantly contorts, and he loses all interest in checking up on this guy’s clean food and clean environment. He turns the fuck around, stomping out of there. “Fuck you.” 

“That wasn’t a no, doc. See you next week.” Dave slams the door, cracking the framed dolphin picture in half. Damn. He opens the door, kicks the broken thing outside, and then closes it again.

  “Fuck no!” He shouts, a little before he hits the gate. He wonders why the human always uses his official title. Most trolls don’t. There’s no way he actually respects him. 

There really is no way. Dave loathes him a little less than he did two months ago, but he still occasionally wants to beat Dr. Vantas up. It’s a pride thing, considering this was the very dude who sterilized him.

When the next week comes around, Dave isn’t ready. He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place, which is to say that he’s passed out on the front lawn. He’s soaking wet, but only from the sprinklers.

   Karkat was carrying this ridiculous bird cage with elaborately dressed pigeons. He’s been trying not to get shit on the ENTIRE ride over. He buzzes the gate, and no one answers. He buzzes it again, and then sighs. Maybe he drowned in the pool all unsupervised. Good riddance. 

   Actually. 

   That thought is terrifying and entirely possible. Karkat sets the bird cage down, lets the assholes go, and he heads into surgery mode. All business and no time for bullshit. He pushes his sleeves up, and climbs right the fuck over that huge ass gate. He thinks he twists his ankle on the landing, but he can ignore that. He’s about to sprint off towards the pool when he realizes he doesn’t need to. 

Dave is usually, thankfully, alone when he passes out. He’s glad to not be so vulnerable around anyone, including the one night stands he gets completely naked with. There’s no one to keep him from falling into the pool or from smashing his head against the marble countertops in his kitchen. The thought that no one he’s friends with would care to keep him safe like that if they were around to do it anyway is disturbing, so he doesn’t think about it. He’d honestly rather die now than later at the hands of a terrifying space witch, but for some reason, nothing ever seems to kill him. Or Rose, for that matter.

    “Shit. Strider. Tell me you aren’t dead, please don’t be dead,” he licks his lips. It would be SO much paperwork. Karkat slowly approaches the body, rushing the last few steps. He places two fingers under his chin, and almost sighs out an entire breathing tube when he finds a pulse. 

   He rolls him over, but decides that he’s not going to try to wake him up. Rude as shit custom. Karkat easily lifts the guy over his shoulder, balancing him as he decides to invade his hive. He’s no vampire, he doesn’t need an invitation. It takes him a few exploratory tries to find a room with a bed in it, and he doesn’t care if it’s actually supposed to be Dave’s or not. He gets carefully placed on the bed, and then Karkat searches all through the drawers. 

    He can’t find fresh clothes anywhere. Oh well. He wouldn’t mind beside the fact that his current threads smell like vomit and smoke and sprinkler water. Karkat strips Dave naked, washes his face off, and then tightly tucks him under the covers. One of those tucks that only a mother or a nurse could master. He fluffs the pillow, and then quietly leaves the room, extra care on shutting the door softly. 

   Karkat is met with a god awful mess in the rest of the house. It’s funny how he didn’t notice it before, what with worrying about transporting a live human being. He’s still sort of on an adrenaline high, so he picks the god damn place up. And for a troll, that means piling. There are trash piles in one corner, blanket and pillow piles in another, and he even goes so far as to pile all the weapons he finds as he cleans. That’s not nearly enough shit to calm him down, and he’s on an organizing kick, so he decides to raid Dave’s nutrition block. Ethical practices his ass. 

   He ends up making some sort of casserole out of the scraps he finds in the cupboards and the fridge, cooking it in the only glass pan he can find. He has to wash out an algal plant that he hopes wasn’t important. The entire hive smells like doritos and noodles, and he’s honest to god ashamed of the thing he produced. He puts it on the stove top, turns the entire thing off, and considers leaving a note. He decides against it, thinking that Dave is either smart enough to figure it out, or dumb enough not to deserve to know. Looking at the clock, he realizes he’s been here for hours. Time flies when you’re snooping around a guy’s house while you bake him a casserole. 

   What the fuck was that thought. He clears his mind as he gets the fuck out of dodge. 

Dave absolutely fears the worst when he wakes up totally naked and  _ tucked into bed _ like a baby who can’t handle not sleeping in a crib. He feels like shit as per usual upon waking, but he can’t remember anyone being around when he passed out late the night before (or early morning, depending). He hears shuffling downstairs, just barely, because the walls and floors are thick as hell, but before he can attack the intruder with a long, shiny sword, Dr. Vantas is gone.

He finds the casserole and pokes and prods it with a fork before finally giving in to hunger and eating some of it. It’s not exactly good, but it’s food he didn’t have to call someone to come make. He figures it was the troll doctor, because when he leans back against the counter he can see all of the damage he did piled before him. Fucking aliens.


	5. A ship called FriendShit

   Karkat wonders why the hell he did what he did for a while. He blames it initially on being in the zone, but that doesn’t explain the more nurturing aspects of what’s going on. He doesn’t want to admit that he CARES for this douchebag, but that’s what’s going on. 

  The next week that he comes with a mysterious brown package (although he could swear it was vibrating a few minutes ago), he also brings a gift of his own. It’s a thick book on troll romance, with highlights and notes surrounding the kismesis section. He doesn’t want to have to explain this to the morgue Dave ends up in, so here they are. He buzzes the gate. 

Dave was grateful, in a weird way he doesn’t fully understand, for Karkat’s casserole. So he opts not to give it too much thought. He is dead fucking sober the next time he answers the gate because, honestly, he’s exhausted. He’s got work to do and he can’t do  _ all _ of it under the influence. He doesn’t walk out to greet the troll, but he does wait at the open front door by the time Karkat is walking through the grass. He doesn’t know when he started thinking about his doctor on a first-name basis, but it’s weirding him out. A guy bakes him one casserole and suddenly Dave is ready to suck his wiggly, technicolor troll dick.

   His face is painted in an open scowl, but it’s normal enough. The squelch of his shoes is disheartening. “Anything unusual this week, Strider? Decide to try meth yet?” 

“I’ll have you know that I only ever get high on life, doc. And as a general rule, I don’t fuck with anything that involves needles.” Dave eyes the stupid brown box and sighs through his nose. This is also getting exhausting. It stopped being funny when the person who maintains his yard complained about all the glitter they’ve had to clean out of the grass.

   “Just don’t do ecstasy. You can never come back from that.” He rubs his shoes on the pavement, and then walks up to his patient. That was probably terrible medical advice, but like he said before, he wasn’t famous for his personable skills. He shoves the box at him first, but his fingers tap on the spine of the book. “Hear me out.” 

Dave looks down at the box, then over to the book. Judging by the title, this is exactly the kind of book he doesn’t want to read. “What is this?” He asked, ready to toss both gifts into the pool for the pool guy to take care of tomorrow.

   “You need help. And you aren’t going to listen to me, and I could give a shit about that because, really, who should be listening to me? But this is a selection from my personal library about the intricacies of a black romance, and I think that the highlights would really help you not to die in the near future.” He clears his throat. “It is my job, so don’t get any ideas.” 

“What have I told you about this pitch horseshit? I’m not trying to court your queen.” Dave turns the book over in his hands once he’s got a good hold of both things, and he looks at the cover. He judges.

   As he should. It has an overlaid and embossed spade in a half full glass. “It doesn’t matter what YOU’RE trying to do. SHE wants you fucking bad. So at the very least, this could help you understand why, or what social roles she expects you to follow. Excuse me for assuming you know nothing about my culture. Oh wait, you don’t.” 

“Man, I really ain’t asking for this kind of disgusting attention. In fact, I’ve had about enough of answering my door and throwing glitter all over the lawn every Thursday afternoon. You can tell your boss personally that I don’t fucking want her gifts and I don’t care if she hangs me in front of town hall for it. Don’t you find this demeaning? You’re a doctor, for fuck’s sake.”

   “Strider, when will you get it through your skull that she takes what she wants?” He sounds more than exasperated at this point. Karkat shakes his head, and reaches forward to take his book back. “Forget it. Forget I said anything. Of course I find it demeaning. It’s not like I have a god damn choice, do I? She’s making a laughingstock of me more than I already was, pretty fucking hard to do, and washing away the last hope I had at relevance.” He scoffs. “She thinks it’s so hilarious that someone like me would be taking CARE of someone like you. In CHARGE of someone like you. It’s her way of backsliding your entire race, and I am just a punchline to a joke that neither of us are laughing at. So yes, I find it demeaning. I find it more agonizingly degrading than you could ever wrap your think-pan around.” He just seems tired. 

“No, I’m keeping the book for my troubles. Maybe I can shoehorn this shit into my next draft of the script I’m working on.” Dave is tired too, but he doesn’t know if he should soak up this feeling of kinship with the only troll who’s shown him some kindness. Karkat has not only cooked him dinner, but essentially neutered him, chewed him out on several occasions, and still works for the Condesce. He wanted to ask him if he wanted a drink just a minute ago, but as he rubs his thumbs over the back cover of the troll romance guide, he decides they have too little in common. If anything, Karkat is here as an even deeper joke: appealing to Dave’s humanity.

    “For both of our sakes, I hope I never see your face again,” It’s more tender than the first time he said it, only because he means it with more bite and essentially fails. Karkat turns around like normal, shoving his hands into his pockets as he makes his way towards the gate. 

Dave is filled with so many emotions as he watches the troll walk away that he feels as though he can’t move. If he turns, he’ll shatter. He’s overdue a breakdown, but he tries to swallow those feelings as fast as he felt them. He wishes he could just spit.

“Hey,” Fuck the Spacey Sea Queen. “Do you want to come in for a drink? You’re not technically on the job, are you?” Dave is suddenly determined to, well, determine what exactly this guy’s intentions are. Is he just a pawn like he suggests, or is his job just as sinister as it first appeared to be?

   He looks over his shoulder, and for a moment, he hesitates. But then he gains his fucking wits back. “No. As your professional medical opinion, I am declaring you officially too pickled to function. I’m not encouraging that sort of behavior.”

He grits his teeth, because he hates hearing what he already knows. He is essentially a selfish, perpetually unsatisfied brat who, even with all the money in the world, still insists that said world is out to get him. This is his biggest flaw, the one that keeps him from doing anything worthwhile with his short time on this dying planet. Dave drops the box to the ground and punts it in Karkat’s general direction.

   It hits him in the back of the head, hard. He gets knocked the fuck over to the ground, and he’s pretty sure that he skinned his knee. FUCK! He stands up, whirling around with the loudest snarl in his voice that he’s had in awhile. “Get some real fucking food and maybe I’d consider it!!! Enjoy your vibrator, asshole!” He tosses the box back at Strider, and then stomps the rest of the way out of there. He’s still taking a cab. 

Dave isn’t guilty in the slightest for possibly skinning his doctor’s knee. Just what semblance of humanity is it that Karkat appeals to? He steps back and slams the door at an alarming speed, so the package only hits it and falls to the ground again.

Once inside, he debates on calling Rose, then decides this isn’t an issue he needs to go to her about. This is all in his head. There is nothing significant about his delivery boy, whether or not the Alternian Empress hired him to get under Dave’s skin. He doesn’t care. He isn’t going to think about it.

   The next time that Karkat shows up at Dave’s door, he has his hands full of unlabeled, brown bags. He has to buzz the gate with his toe, but he manages some how. The walk feels a lot longer than normal. 

   “Alright, listen up dipshit. You have enough money to spare, so I’m keeping the gift this week. It’s a personalized music played that is loaded with some fucked up tunes, but I can sync it to my own computer and jailbreak it. None of that concerns you, considering you would have tossed it in the load gaper anyway to make a dramatic statement.” He drops the bags on the porch. “You’re probably wondering what the fuck these are. They’re payback for stealing the gift, because I doubted that you would actually go out and get yourself decent food. I managed to snag you the only decent grubloaf in the entire peninsula. You’re welcome.” He dusts his hands off. 

Dave did read the book that Karkat gave to him, but it wasn’t very interesting. He was mostly disgusted by the idea that the queen of an alien race wants to hate-fuck him in the first place. He made his own notes, however, putting together a plan on how he can counter her efforts at pitch-courting him. It’s going to be fantastic.

As he watches Karkat struggle to hold up the bags, he decides to step aside to let the troll in. He almost forgot that this guy has been in here before. Weird.

“I need to get out of here. Actually, I don’t need to do anything, but I’ve had the worst fucking day, and seeing you doesn’t make it any better. Surprising.” Karkat stretches his back. Those bags had been heavy. 

Dave is, surprisingly, filled with the weirdest emotion that he can’t seem to mentally label while watching the troll put down those bags of groceries. It’s unpleasant, somewhere between a headache, nausea, and chest pains. A weird combination of all three, with a touch of disgust. “Welcome in. Glad to see you.” He knows it isn’t troll hatred, but it’s not a feeling he’s accustomed to. It’s like his brain doesn’t know what to do with the constant exposure to this guy who isn’t so bad, but by nature pisses Dave off. He wonders if there’s poison in those groceries. He walks over and peeks into one of the bags.

   “No, I really mean it. All I want right now is to go home and sleep for three days.” He clears his throat. “I lost someone.” He’s not sure how else to say it. It just plain sucks. All the emotions that he doesn’t want said spill out on his face. “So I’m going to go ahead and let you do the heavy lifting here. There are recipes and shit inside the bags. It’s simple enough for even YOU to handle.” He’s not looking for a thank you, and he he turns around before he loses control of his tear ducts. 

“I’m not trying to kick you while you’re down or anything, but it really ain’t cute when you consistently insult my intelligence. You’re not better just because-- No, stop crying. Stop that, I’m trying to give you a piece of my mind while I’m sober and able.”

   “I’m not crying!” He’s walking down the pathway now. “Excuse me if my entire life doesn’t revolve around you.” 

“Come back here while I’m talking to you, asshole.” Dave doesn’t go far past his front door.

  “No,” he slows down a step, then speeds back up. “Be sober more often and maybe we’ll talk more.” 

“Show emotions besides indigestion and rage more often and maybe I’ll listen to you.”

  “Maybe I’d stop insulting your intellect if you stopped throwing the first punch!” He screams it from the gate, and he has no idea why he’s so emotional. It’s just been a long day. 

“You are the reason I do drugs on Thursdays!” Dave stomps back into his house, then slams the door. Yeah, some sort of vindication. He puts all of the groceries away really quickly because he is angry and embarrassed. Dave doesn’t know why he wants the doctor to stay and talk all the time, but there’s a nagging voice in the back of his mind that insists it’s because this enormous house is lonely.

  He cries his eyes out in the taxi cab. He really does. Karkat heads towards his favorite restaurant in the world, and orders his favorite soup with puffy eyes. It reminds him of home. He eats an entire chocolate eclair for dessert, and goes on a long walk in the fall air. He thinks about life and death and how much he really has control. The answer is: not all that much at all. 

Dave eats grubloaf for the first time and vomits it right back up after googling the ingredients. He eats a regular human sandwich afterward, and drinks the rest of the apple juice he’s got in the fridge. Bet you didn’t see that coming. He totally drinks stuff besides alcohol when he’s sad.

   The next week, Karkat doesn’t show up. It’s not a petty childish thing, he’s literally stuck in really complicated eye surgery. He figures HIC can skin his ass, and he won’t care. Okay. Maybe it’s a LITTLE bit petty. Why he associates Dave with crying his eyes out is beyond him. 

Dave feels the weirdest disappointment when the delivery doctor doesn’t show up. He even looks out the window a few times and casually walks along his front lawn. Not even a replacement troll shows up with pills and a gift, so he wonders if Karkat got culled or fired or something. He wonders why he cares. Dave goes back inside and actually does call Rose, who is glad to hear his voice. It’s been awhile since he’s called her sober. He tells her all about Dr. Vantas and the hate gifts he delivers, and how he has the weirdest dislike of this dude because he can’t technically make himself hate him. He’s totally at a loss of how to feel, and Rose questions why he feels obligated to feel anything for a troll who works directly under the Condesce. She’s as suspicious as he was months ago, but only because Dave sounds so oddly fond of the medical professional who tossed him into an awful phase of binging literally everything in the first place.

   The next week, Karkat does show up with two gifts. He’s backlogged. There’s some box of chocolates, which he has already halfway eaten through, and another mysterious box that he is pretty sure is some sort of purple silk. He peeked. It’s totally cheating and he doesn’t care. Karkat considers leaving the gifts at the gate, but surprisingly wants to see Dave’s face. Just to make sure he isn’t dead. 

He answers the door in his underwear, almost per usual, and he acts surprised to see Karkat. He is weirdly relieved. “What’s new?”

   He lets out the customary eye roll. “Here’s your shit. Take it or leave it, you know the drill. Try not to hit me over the fucking head. Oh wait, it doesn’t matter what I ask. It’s coming anyway.” 

“You’re damn fucking right it is.” Since one of the boxes looks fairly easy to open, he actually tosses the top and looks into it. It’s some kind of lingerie. Dave tosses the box aside. “That’s not my color.” It’s hers. The silky little number lands on the grass.

   “I thought I gave you a book about this shit.” Like usual, he gives Dave a moment before explaining. “Wearing her color would be possessive and submissive in the same breath. It’s being bathed in her blood.” 

“Well, she’s gonna have to live with the disappointment because she’d have to literally possess me to make me submit to wearing that lacy trash. Do you think she’d get off or get mad if I picked up Channing Tatum’s dog poop with it?”

   “I doubt she ever thought you would put it on. Unless she can’t see that you have the sex appeal of a toad.” He almost laughs. Almost. “Honestly? Probably both. Your best bet to piss her off is to proudly display someone else’s color, but you don’t have that shit to flair. I suggest burning the shit in your front lawn ring.” 

Dave shakes the other box violently. What’s inside the mystery gift today? Oh wait, he doesn’t care. He rolls his eyes behind his shades and throws the box at Karkat’s stomach, only because he’s closer than usual when Dave decides to toss the box.

   “Why do you do that.” He bends over, picking up the box. Without blinking an eye, he pops the top and resumes eating the candy.  “Throw shit at me. It’s not my fault she hates you.” 

“It’s your fault for continuing to stand for or behind her ruthless system of oppression. The fact that you would gladly get on your knees and eat her soggy gray ass because it’s your patriotic duty disgusts me, quite frankly. You’re no better than she is.”

   “Yeah, I know I’m shit. But I don’t kill people on the daily, and chocolate is chocolate.” He pops another candy into his mouth. 

“I don’t mean to get all conservative here, but you are the one who essentially neutered me. You personally knocked me out and took away the one human freedom I was born with because your witch of a boss told you to. I know trolls don’t have the same kinds of familial structures as humans do, but what you did was very fucked up.”

   “Patriotism comes in a lot of different colors.” He slows his words down, less interested in the chocolate. “Maybe I’m playing my cards right now so that I can have a better role in the future. Not everyone has your kind of power or status, you know.” He looks into the house. It looks messier than the time he saved his drunk ass. 

“I worked for my money,” He worked hard for it, honey. “I couldn’t afford to get a degree, because I lived wherever was most convenient. You are a part of a system that is literally draining my planet of resources and killing off an entire species that, from an evolutionary standpoint, is fucking incredible.”

   More eye rolls. “I didn’t pay shit for my degree besides my tests. I already told you that. Some of us have smarts, some of us have looks or talent or whatever the fuck you call it. I’m honestly just glad not to be on the end of a culling fork every day I get up. Something you should start appreciating.” 

“I could care less about her glorified fork. I’m vaguely sure I can’t die, but that’s another issue entirely that I don’t feel like getting into. None of what I am or choose to be changes the fact that you are fucking awful.” Dave runs a hand through his hair. This is not what he wants to say, but these are the words that are coming out. He’s frustrated and tired.

 “Stop telling me shit I already know! I completely agree with you, you stubborn ass. You’re so convinced you want to fight me, you can’t see that.” He huffs. And with that bullshit, he decides he’s done. Karkat turns, and walks off. 

“You can compare me to a wiggler or whatever all you want, but you’re always the one to walk away when the conversation isn’t going your way. I’m not looking to fight you. You’re not worth the exertion, doc.”

   “Well yeah, it’s not my fucking hive. Unless you’re ready to sign over the deed. I have places to be, Dave. Lives to save.” He clenched his teeth. “Stop baiting me into a stupid fight.” 

He often forgets that Karkat has an actual job, mostly because he never comes dressed in his uniform. “What did I  _ just _ say, dude?”

   He spins around angrily. “What? Do you want me to bow down and kiss your toes in apology for the sins of my race? Pro tip, but before we got here, you were already fucking things up big time. But no, I could give a shit about that. I have actual, ADULT responsibilities to look after. I have bills to pay, and one hell of a debt sentence to clear if I ever want to go home again. Excuse me for not giving a shit about your planet when I have to look out for myself, and my lusus.”

“That is the single most selfish thing I’ve ever heard in my life, and that’s coming from me. You would watch an entire race die without batting an eyelash? Trolls are ice fucking cold. You’re all the same. The next time you knock me out to do something against my will in the name of medicine, just make sure I stay asleep.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s my fault he’s dying. There was an accident- So i had to fix it somehow. Fuck you for making me talk about this.” He rubs his shoulder. “I’m not in charge of the moral responsibilities of anyone that isn’t me. I know how dangerous they are. So call me a coward. Fucking sue me. There’s nothing I can do.” 

“I’m not asking for your life story, and I’m really not asking you to drop everything and rebel against your government. In fact, I’m not sure what I’m asking for.”

   “So then what the hell do you want?” He echoes. 

“I guess empathy, or something. It doesn’t matter. I know I’m just another part of your shitty job.” He knows he’s going to die someday at the hands of the Batterwitch, and as much as he cries and screams about it, none of it is going to change. It doesn’t matter that nobody cares about him besides some author in New York who can hardly come to see him. None of it matters, because he’s nothing in the long run anyway.

    “Of course it fucking matters!” He wants to tear his hair out. “I have all the empathy in the world for you, but talking about how much I’ve come to care for your stupid ass is more of a death sentence on you than a compliment.” He’s close to stomping his feet on the ground. “I’ve cared about you for this entire fucking time, you’re just too IGNORANT to realize. That’s it, Dave. You aren’t stupid, you just don’t pay attention. To the danger that you’re in, or the people around you.” 

“You think I don’t know I’m in danger? What, do you think I go inside and twiddle my thumbs and wait for that bitch to come fork me? I know exactly why this is happening to me and I am powerless to stop it, so why fucking bother?” Dave is shaking slightly and it’s nowhere near cold out tonight.

 He pauses, eyebrows furrowing close together. “Maybe I will take that drink.” 

He squeezes the doorframe and his heart seems to skip a beat. He doesn’t remember the last time someone who didn’t work for him or only wanted to fuck him came inside his house. He tries not to think too much of it, but shit, his house is a mess right now. “I’ve got plenty to spare.”

  “I couldn’t care if you had one sip of shit left and we were on a deserted fucking island.” He walks past him, pushing his chest back with a strong palm before he heads to the nutrition block. “I’d ask you to split it.” 

He’s on edge, but really doubts Karkat wants to fight. He doesn’t really seem the type despite how touchy he is. Dave closes the door and walks over to the kitchen area, which is huge and modern and empty of most things normal kitchens have, like pans and little jars filled with flour.

  “Fuck me up.” 

Karkat isn’t exactly sure where to lean. He doesn’t want to sit down, and he sort of hangs in the space between the kitchen and the not kitchen. His eyes are on Dave’s back. He realizes they never talked about the casserole. They never talked about a lot of things. 

Dave opens the fridge and grabs a Coke. He is pretty sure this is how trolls get drunk, because he has only ever seen them sucking on high-sugar drinks in bars. This is the best be can do to accommodate a troll guest. He places the glass bottle on the counter, then turns to look at Karkat. “You can come a little closer; I’m not going to throw it at you.”

  “Oh sorry, my track record is either getting hit or knocking you the fuck out. Neither sound like permissible options right now.” 

“Come get the fucking Coke, you weiner.” Dave rolls his eyes and pushes his shades into his hair. He’s far too lazy to keep up appearances in his own home, especially with a doctor who has seen all he has to offer before. He grabs a glass for himself and puts some ice in it. He spends a moment staring at it before he decides to fill it up with two-thirds apple juice and only one third vodka.

  He grabs the drink, taking care to slide his fingers slowly over the glass. It’s cold. He stares at it, because he should not lose his wits in this particular situation. He decides to fuck his inner conscience, and downs half the bottle without tasting it. The bubbles tickle his nose, and he coughs. “Shit.” 

Dave can’t believe this is happening. He’s fantasized about this in the shower, oddly enough. He thinks about a lot of imaginary conversations he’ll never have in the shower, but for once he’s actually got a person in his house who wants something from him other than money or sex. He’s not sure where to begin here, what’s the etiquette?

   “Where do you keep your movies.” He takes a small sip, not tipping his head back this time. Not as far. 

“Living room, in that big ass ottoman. Lift off the top cushion and there’s a bunch of shit.” Dave stirs his drink a little and then he sips at it, following the troll into the living room.

  Karkat doesn’t even want to watch them, he just wants to look through them. He walks into the living room, and lifts the latch on the ottoman. He loudly reacts to each title he sees, not letting the invisible audience in the room miss a beat. “You own a lot of crap.” 

“I like to buy movies after I see them in theaters, or even if I haven’t seen them yet.”

  “Like I said. You like a lot of crap.” He starts sorting them out, into different levels of watchability. Most likely, somewhat likely, least likely. The definitely have to watch pile is almost empty. 

“That doesn’t mean I like all of them. I make movies. Knowing what makes a film good or bad is pretty important.” Dave sits down on the couch and continues to sip at his drink while the troll sorts his movies in a way he doesn’t understand.

    “Well most of these. Are crap.” This is funnier when he says it this time. But he doesn’t laugh, he keeps sorting. Karkat likes the rug he’s sitting on, and he settles on his stomach. “This is a good rug. Fine ass carpet.” 

He is amazed at the speed of the troll metabolism, as usual. Which is to say that it isn’t all that fast, because Karkat isn’t burning off what he’s consuming, he’s just a fucking lightweight. Dave purses his lips, then stops making the face because he is finishing his drink. He wants more apple juice and more alcohol, but he’s not sure which he wants more.

  He runs his fingers carefully over the boxes, even the ones he doesn’t like. It takes a while, because instead of reading the titles he is reading the spots on the back of the boxes that summarize the entire thing. “Does it ever get lonely here.” 

Dave stands up and looks down into the glass, watching the ice stay absolutely still. Gravity. “Of course.” That’s all he has to say about that. Dave walks back into the kitchen and gets a much bigger glass. The aj-to-vodka ratio is wonky as well, but he returns to his spot on the couch a minute later.

  “Well I could have guessed that. You need a god damned meowbeast, Dave. I live in like,  ten by ten two room shit show and even I have one to keep me company.” He realizes he’s never told Dave much about his life. He doesn’t know all that much about his either. He starts to put all the reject movies back, leaving out a few buddy cop movies and every rom com that Dave owns. 

“I don’t like cats.” Cars he likes, but he can’t park them inside as hard as he tries. “I like birds, but only pigeons fly around here. I’m not high enough. I mean, I’ve got a three story house and not a penthouse.”

  He snorts at that. “I brought you fucked up gift pigeons, but I had to let them go on account of I was busy saving your ass from grass.” 

“What are you talking about?” He was unconscious.

  “I pulled your ass from the front lawn and dragged you inside. You’re fucking welcome. But I had to let go of a couple of birds to do it.” He shrugs. “The one gift you might have actually liked. Besides the vibrator.” 

“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that time. You broke into my house, made a casserole out of everything I own, and took off all of my clothes. I could probably sue you for some of that.” Dave takes a long drink.

   “You’re welcome.” His face twists. He thought he was being nice. “Sue me. I’m a fraction of an inch away from losing the right to practice. Neither of us would ever have to do this shit again.” He ignores the fact that he doesn’t actually have to be here for the moment. 

“I’m joking. There would be nothing to gain from suing you. In fact, I’d probably lose more money in the process. I just kind of freaked out about being placed into bed and everything. Nobody’s ever done that for me.” Besides Rose, of course, but she’s hardly around.

   “Like it matters.” He chooses his top three cases, and moves next to Dave to show him. There’s a foot of room between them. “I’m probably going to be gone soon anyway, so I could care less.” His voice shows otherwise. 

He isn’t sure how much of Karkat he should be taking at face value. He hasn’t tried to hold a normal conversation in so long, it’s almost like he forgot how to talk to someone. He looks to the movies.

  “Pick one.” He holds three options out. 

“Uh, why are those all the shittest possible movies anybody ever saw?” 

  He makes the most contemplative of thoughtful faces. “You have to be kidding me. These are the only salvageable titles you own.” 

Dave snorts. That’s embarrassing. “No, those are the single shittiest movies I own. You really know how to pick ‘em.” They’re romcoms, besides Starsky and Hutch. Sorry, Ben.

  Pissed off now, the troll glares at Dave. He has prepared for this moment, he is so goddamn ready. Nothing could make him more ready for right now. 

   The next three hours of Dave’s life are spent with Karkat verbally telling him how wrong he is, sipping coke, and then crashing face first on the rug. 

He is in awe that Karkat is even more shitfaced than he is. By the time the troll has passed out, he’s not even drunk. Dave lifts up his limp, gray body, and lies him down on the couch even though he thinks he could fit this dude on the ottoman. He’s even smaller when he sleeps because he curls the fuck up. The voice gives him a surprising perception of added height. Go figure. Instead, Dave sits on the ottoman and stares at the sleeping troll for a moment or two. He wants to do several things, none of which involve Karkat’s unconscious body. 

First, he wants to call Rose and update her on his weird situation. Second, he wants to get that fucked up. Third, he wants to leave the house. That’s a weird one, but his palms are sweating because he’s irrationally nervous about the troll sleeping in his house. It’s like going to bed with a tiger in the living room. A fascist tiger.

  Karkat starts making a bubbling sound in his sleep. Not like snoring, that’s too mammalian. It’s bubbling, like a small and very angry crab. 

It freaks Dave out, so he leaves the room. He’s sweating a lot, oddly enough. He checks the time and cleans the living room of glasses and bottles. He munches on Doritos and considers watching television at a low volume. He’s nervous, but refuses to take anything because he wants to be sober if the troll wakes up.

   When he does eventually wake up, he has no idea what time it is. His eyes hurt and his mouth feels encrusted with dried sugar. Gross. He needs sopor and he’ll just feel really exhausted until he gets a dosage. He yawns, the pointy teeth in the back of his mouth visible, and then he rubs his eyes. Sleep is slow to leave him. He expects he was asleep for two or three hours, but after checking the clock it was more like eight. That’s nuts! How the hell did he sleep that long. He bolts the fuck up, because he’s late to work. 

When Karkat is finally awake, he’s just gotten out of the shower. He’s making coffee in the kitchen, wrapped up in a towel. He didn’t know how late he’d need to stay up, but he hasn’t heard the troll yet anyway. Dave only sees him when he turns around, and he nearly drops his mug. A little bit of coffee spills to the floor, but misses his foot. “Christ, are you awake?” If this alien is sleepwalking, he’s finished.

  He looks a mess. Hair ruffled, clothes out of whack, a little bit of old come on his shirt tail. “Yeah, and I’m late to work. Fuck me in the asshole,” he does a double take, and then starts dialing the number on his phone for a cab. He paces while he talks on the phone, a nervous habit. He’s almost out the door before he realizes he forgot something. He turns back to the human, giving a curt nod. “Thanks.” 

“Uh huh,” This is weird. Dave is exhausted. He puts the mug down on the counter and starts walking toward the door so he can lock it. “Have, uh. Good luck at work.”

  He nods again, mumbles something about leg surgery, and then he’s gone. He’s not in his own head right now, he needs to be there. He has one hell of a long day in front of him, and he can’t spend it all thinking about how horribly embarrassing he was around his human. 


	6. NOT a date: no homo hashtag love

Dave leaves the hot coffee there on the counter, locking the door and going straight upstairs to bed. He can’t fall asleep, oddly enough, because he’s thinking about Karkat. The dude is his doctor, his fish-oil-and-hate-gift delivery boy. He can’t believe the guy drank a bunch of soda and passed out on the floor; it’s just so left field coming from the guy who screams at him in his yard all the time. Maybe he was right before. Dave keeps going in circles, but he always comes back to the fact that  _ maybe _ Karkat isn’t so bad after all. Sure, he’s a fascist dickhole troll who would kill the human race in a heartbeat if it meant not getting forked, but he’s kind of funny and adorable.

Dave buries those thoughts deep in his mind, then he jerks off and finally gets to sleep. He didn’t think about Karkat, of course, because he doesn’t really know for sure what troll’s are packing down there. Plus it’s  _ such _ a bad idea to get his dick involved in the thoughts he has about his least favorite healthcare professional. It’s bad enough that he’s always fucked up around the troll, but he shouldn’t start thinking about how attractive Karkat is, because he’s bound to make a move one of these Thursdays. That might piss off the Condesce, but it’ll also probably get the doctor killed. Dave decides to  _ never _ think about Karkat Vantas in that way, no matter how many times he comes in for a drink or two.

   The next Thursday, Karkat is nervous as fuck. He doesn’t want to approach Dave because of the shit show he put on the week before. He reviews the script in his head, excusing himself because he felt emotional or some strange unspoken connection between him and Dave. He’s half concerned he has a diamonds crush on him, because holy fuck is he aiming to comfort. That’s such a stupid thought, considering he’s an adult and having a moirail is a simple thing that two adults communicate about. He feels like he’s six sweeps old again, pussyfooting around and walking into dark, unknown alleys. 

   The gift is really weird this week, and difficult to lug. Not that they aren’t usually weird. Karkat slugs an entire huge bottle of pink champagne that he can barely carry. He has no clue why the fuck she would send him something so big, and part of him doesn’t want to hand it over to Dave in the case he would be irresponsible with it. Which is probable. 

   He buzzes in at that gate, and trounces over the grass. He’s sure the lawn needs a trimming because it touches his ankles, and he’s fairly sure he  can still see the imprints of his feet from the last week. 

Dave simply doesn’t have time to make sure his yard work gets done. He’s busy developing and doctoring a script for his next feature film. This one will feature a very poor, hopefully offensive caricature of the Condesce that everyone with a semi-developed brain over six years old will understand. He’s finished being vague, because he is directly in the shit now. This chick is straight hate romancing him and it makes him want to castrate himself.

He opens the door to Karkat as per usual, about as exhausted as he was the week before. He’s not completely in his underwear, but he hasn’t shaved all week and he’s been eating irregularly. Work is hard.

   “Do you want to go out on Saturday?” What the fuck was that. He hasn’t even handed over the gift yet and it blurts out of his mouth. He scrambles, trying to cover over the misstep. “I mean I figure we barely see each other as it is, and always on your turf so that you get the upper hand you gallivanting asshole. I have these tickets for a dumb show at this stupid bar, and my friend bailed on me last minute, and surprisingly I don’t have all that many people I would want to bring to a place like this. This is probably violating the doctor patient relationship on so many levels.”

“Relax, you don’t need to provide that much backstory because if I was gonna say no, I’d have done it by now. I don’t stand for feeling uncomfortable because other people don’t know how to talk to me.” More like he doesn’t know how to politely handle conversation, but that’s an issue he simply doesn’t care about.

   “What a perfect way to say you’re an asshole.” Karkat shoves the giant bottle towards him. “Please don’t smash this over my head.” 

He takes the gift and considers keeping this one, but it looks like a  _ very  _ bad idea. He doesn’t want to throw it at Karkat, mostly because it’ll probably be hard to lift up. “I would never waste good champagne like that, dude. I’ll go to the bar show with you.”

   “You’re insufferable. I’ll pick you up at nine.” He turns around, not wanting to talk about what had happened the week before and not wanting to relive embarrassment. And there he goes. 

Dave doesn’t stop him, because he honestly doesn’t want to make things super uncomfortable before they go out on Saturday. Is that a date? No, of course not. It’s a friend thing, most likely. Or a desperation thing, because Karkat doesn’t have friends. What could go wrong? He is not going to get drunk and twist everything into a weird thing that it just isn’t. He really hasn’t been on a date in so long, but Dave doesn’t want to go on a date anyway, and especially not with his doctor! They are just unlikely friends, with nothing going on between them. The fact that he’s even thinking about it while the other walks away is disturbing to him, so he kicks over the pink champagne and closes the door.

When Saturday rolls around, he is sweating. He takes a shower after his late-morning run because he looks like shit and he needs to shave. He’s nervous, sort of itching to pregame, which to him is getting wasted beforehand or at least really high. Dave doesn’t want to do that with his doctor because he’s holding out hope that maybe things won’t be completely awkward between them.

   Karkat waits outside the gate, dressed normally in sweater and leggings. He attempted to comb his hair and gave up halfway through, so it’s the weirdest mix of semi tame and semi styled. He buzzes the voice box, demanding that Dave come out to him for once. 

Dave only does him this service because he wants to, and he stomps all the way down on the pavement to the troll. He is dressed somewhat casually, like a business casual, because that is the only way he knows how to dress down without taking off his clothes. It’s got something to do with the paradox of choice and the fact that he owns too many nice things. Dave looks the cleanest he’s looked in a while, but who cares? This is not a date.

    “I don’t have your number. Not your real number, and I’m not stealing the fake one from hospital documentation. So I obviously didn’t text you the band’s name, which you would have probably wanted to know considering they’re shitty.” He walks back towards the cab that was waiting for them. “Too late now.”

“If there’s a bar, the last thing I’m paying attention to is the band.” He meant it jokingly, but it kind of sounds fucked up considering his doctor knows exactly how much he drinks. Dave wrinkles his nose and follows the troll to the cab.

   “That kind of sounds fucked up, considering I know how much you drink.” He opens the door of the cab for Dave. Two blows in one move. 

“It’s common knowledge, at this point.” Dave slips into the cab. Joke’s on Karkat, he has the door held for him all the time because he’s too rich to hold it himself. He slides in and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Maybe I meant I’d be paying attention to you, man. Didn’t consider that one.”

    Karkat slides in next to him instead of sitting in the front. He tells the driver where to go, and they’re off. “I considered it, actually, but deduced it too fucking stupid to actually have any chance of being possible. I am probably the least interesting person you know, let alone far down on your list of people to pay attention to.” 

Dave rolls his eyes and doesn’t question Karkat’s choice in seating because it makes sense to him. “I doubt that, considering your choice in movies a few weeks ago. I really want to know more about why you’ll so strongly defend an eighties romcom but shit all over some of the best campy classics of our lifetime. You are a doctor, not a filmmaker, so I want to know what makes you so qualified to talk mad smack about my movie collection.”

“My choice in movies is flawless, backed by the tact that I so obviously hold. Anyone who likes Quentin Tarantino has never actually ripped an ear off of someone’s body.” Karkat has a very specific taste in movies. He loves wish fulfilment, and seeing what isn’t actually there in his life. Blood and guts, horror and terror, all of that shit is a real life experience. Reliving it again on the big screen is just too much. He would much rather watch Drew Barrymore pining over some stupid ex than a mobster get what he deserves. “If you could see the cinematic genius that they cook up on Alternia, you’d be shitting yourself with the poor selection you have available to you now.” 

The taxi sputters over the city streets, ambiguous as they are pretty. Tall, windowed buildings loom over the skyline, but construction seems to have stopped as of late. Karkat couldn’t explain it, because he wasn’t living here in the heyday of production. He doesn’t remember days when new skyscrapers went up around the clock, when construction hummed in the distance. Human sound is weird enough as it is. 

They turn a corner and get stuck in a mass of traffic, and Karkat starts tapping his foot along to the radio blaring quietly in the back of his mind. The tickets feel heavy in his pocket as he thinks about the fact that he’s almost never seen Dave not on a Thursday. 

He doesn’t think that Karkat is jonesing for conversation, which is pretty disappointing because he totally spent an hour in the shower thinking about what he could possibly talk to this dude about. The fact is that he doesn’t know much about his doctor besides that he is a troll who loves romcoms and hurting humans to some extent. Dave doesn’t know why he’d hang out with him if that’s the case, but he figures it has something to do with his unquenchable thirst for pain and suffering. He just loves to put himself through hell because everything is pointless and he’s going to die. It would be a completely different story if he had turned to religion or extreme sports instead of binge drinking and recreational drug use for his troubles, but alas.

“So have you always been such an insufferable ass, or am I just lucky that I bring it out in people?” 

“I think I’ve always been this way, from the moment I cut my way out of the womb with a sword.” He was not born naturally, but he doesn’t know that. Rose can’t see into the past, so they’ll never know. “I guarantee if you were doctor to any given celebrity and it were someone else in my place right now you’d be asking the same question.” He doesn’t know if he likes the thought of Karkat hanging out with his other patients, which is weird. Dave knows where they are in the city, which is a good thing because he’s got this irrational fear that the troll is going to take him to the hospital and remove all of his limbs.

Karkat pauses, trying to pick his words carefully. It doesn’t work very well. “I forget that you’re a celebrity. Just exactly how famous are you? Are people going to stop us in the middle of the street to suck your bulge? I refuse to google you on a pride alone basis.” 

“I’ve got a lot of awards for the shit I’ve churned out in studios. I’ve got a few well-known actors on contract. If we happen to pass by one of the millions of people who’ve seen my face on TV and didn’t immediately throw up, it’s likely that I’ll get stopped for a blowjob.” Dave doesn’t think about his fame like that. It’s something he puts on the backburner; that people listen to what he has to say and recognize him occasionally on the street. To him, being a celebrity is a means to an end. Specifically, his end.

Karkat shrugs. He doesn’t really find any of that shit impressive, because he is pretty sure that he could do it himself if he wanted to. While it’s misguided as fuck, it keeps him humble in a really fucked up backwards way. “Yeah well, I’m not watching someone else suck you off. If it starts happening, excuse me for blowing the fuck out of dodge and leaving you on your own.” 

“I’m not much of an exhibitionist,” He rubs his eyes under his shades. He’s exhausted pretty much all of the time forever, but he’s so determined to enjoy this weird, not-date with his doctor and figure out what exactly it is he wants from him. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Well thank god your kinks aren’t weird. Then I’d have to pull the hell over right now and chew you out about chewing me out for bad movie taste. Kinky shit is way worse of an offense.” The car pulls over on the side of the road. The sun set long ago, and the city lights eclipse any chance of seeing the stars. Karkat slides out, and tips the driver a little bit more than he normally would. He starts walking towards the club, a dingy place making a pun on Card Suits in the neon flashing sign. 

“It really ain’t, but I’m not getting into it.” 

“Oh, I think you are.” 

Dave does not want to have a kinky conversation with this dude, of all people. Not that he mgoes around itching to start up some small talk about sex with every other person he sees anyway. He shakes his head and puts his hands in his pockets.

“I mean, you can’t just shit on exhibitionism without giving it some sort of ground.” Oh fuck, he’s too transparent. This troll is glass, and he’s as stained and colorful as a church window. “I mean, it’s totally some stupid bullshit only done by idiots. But I mean, THEORETICALLY, it makes sense as a thing to do.” He gestures wildly with his hands. “I don’t mean that fucking in a McDonald's ablution trap is sexy, just that it makes sense to want to fuck in a forest or a beach, or somewhere natural and romantic.” 

“That is actually way more than I wanted to know about you.” Dave has yet to use his real name, let alone his first name, despite how often he sees this guy. It’s a little weird, but he decides that maybe he can try using it. Karkat is a doctor, not an employee or assistant, so it’s a totally different kind of awkward. He will prevail. “I know trolls don’t get married or anything and maybe this’ll come off as weirdly forward, but you don’t have a forever hatemate or lovetroll or anything, do you?” God, no, he’s not trying to date this guy. He’s just curious. He never would’ve guessed, but Karkat comes off as such a specifically romantic dude that he assumes he’s with someone. He waits for the confirmation.

“What the fuck kind of question is that.” He glares over at Dave. “I’m not actually going to answer shit unless you get the vocabulary right. I know that you know it.” He holds the door open for Dave, and they head into a dingy little bar. There’s a guy checking IDs at the counter, and stamping the hands of minors with a big, red circle. Karkat doesn’t even bother making eye contact, walking beyond him and through the hallway towards the free flowing soda. Fuck yeah, pepsi is the shit. He grabs Dave’s wrist, and pulls him along, just so that he doesn’t lose him. 

He thinks Karkat’s choice in soda is disgusting, but it’s not as bad as Faygo. Dave’s hand twitches because he has the immediate urge to pull away, but he knows that he’s relatively safe in here. That doesn’t stop him from trying to size-up every human and troll they pass by. Maybe he’s paranoid, but he’s got a right to be so. “It’s cool, I don’t care that much.”

He lets his hand go when he stops moving forward, and grabs a cup of the stuff. It’s probably not spiked with human bullshit, but if it was it would do literally nothing to his metabolism. Karkat gives Dave another look, and then hands him a soda. He doesn’t care if he wants it or not. “If you didn’t care, why would you ask that out of the blue. I really don’t mind telling you, but it takes a basic level of cultural respect. Jesus.” There’s an opening band warming up on the stage in the corner, and a bunch of trolls are chittering excitedly. There’s three of them to every human in here. 

He looks down at the Pepsi in his hand, and he has the not-so-strange urge to chuck it at Karkat’s back. “I just figure you’re always going on about how I don’t know anything about kismet fish and you gave me that book, and you talked for literally two and a half hours about the deep intricacies of  _ How Harry Met Sally _ .” Dave doesn’t know why he stayed put to listen to the rant in the first place. “You seem like a really romantic dude, but I guess my question was answered when you asked me to come with you to this show instead of your troll significant other. Unless you’re seriously jonesing to be Just Friends with your favorite human patient on the side.”

His ears go pink. He totally did not talk for that long. “Can’t a guy have a hobby? I write about--” He takes a long drink, and starts wandering off towards the stage in the back. “FUCK OFF. You really don’t understand the significance of the quadrants, and the kind of person that I would take out to this kind of shitty affair.” There’s an irritated glare, because he’s right. “So I’m having a bit of a dry spell. Big fucking deal, I still like to go out.” 

If there’s one thing Dave just doesn’t stand for, it’s a dry spell of any kind. If anything, he’s more often soaked by the half-assed comfort of slightly cold strangers and copious amounts of burning alcohol than not. Karkat has seen him messed up, but he’s never seen him  _ that _ messed up and he probably wouldn’t want to, simply from a medical perspective.

He takes one sip of the Pepsi before he purses his lips and sets it down for someone else to probably fuck with or knock over, and he looks longingly toward the more human-friendly bar. He doesn’t have a problem because it’s never going to kill him. “I, uh, give me a minute.” It wouldn’t be fair if Karkat got to have all the fun tonight, especially since the band is going to be some youthful, tone-deaf noise he hasn’t been able to handle since his teen years.

Dave maneuvers his way to the bar, the only area dominated mostly by humans, and he orders a drink to get the night started. He wasn’t going to take any shots, but the bartender is getting chewed out for pouring the wrong drink for a particularly boring-looking couple to his right. Dave steps in and the couple pauses, because they are pretty sure this douche looks  _ exactly _ like that one guy who won the Best Picture Oscar last year. He confirms that yes, he does look like that one guy. He gets that a lot. He offers to take the shots and pay for the next three rounds for the couple so they can shut the fuck up and let the bartender get on with her life, and they kindly do so. Dave didn’t bother asking what the shots were, but when he’s done taking the second one he realizes he may have made a mistake; tequila is something he only fucks with on vacation. Nonetheless, he sips at his own cup and makes his way back to Karkat, ignoring the “ _ hey, it is that one guy!” _ coming from the couple.

He decides that he wants to watch the opener act play instead of watching Dave get shitfaced. Still, he feels a gravitational pull towards the human he brought with him, and he keeps glancing over at him. He loses him once or twice, and wonders what he’s saying when he can see him. What the fuck. 

The band gets some pity applause, and then they clear the stage. The main act starts to set up on a black stage while music synonymous to what you would listen to in a punk rock elevator blasts out. Karkat has a nice little buzz, but he’s no where near losing his inhibitions. He’s just a little more touchy than normal, bumping elbows with Dave as he talks. “I told you this place would be a shithole.” 

The first band is very bad and he is not drunk enough to even laugh it off. He’s finished his drink only because there was nothing better to do besides sip awkwardly while the opening act screeched at the crowd. “For once, you were right.” He’s bordering on tipsy by the time the main band is finally on the stage. Dave is experienced enough to not completely embarrass himself at bars these days, so he manages to stay upright and only occasionally stare at Karkat.

The lights dim as the main act starts to blast their sound. It’s a noise that depends mostly on a violin, which is surprisingly not as bad as Karkat thought it would be. He tries not to sway to the music, but he can’t resist. 

The violin reminds him of Rose, but the genre does not. Dave wonders what she’s doing tonight, and if she’d smack him upside the head for going out with a troll. It’s not that they’ve got anything against an entire race of aliens, it’s just that they are sort of biased due to the fact that the leader of the entire race of aliens is trying her damndest to exterminate humankind. “This’s not so bad, Vantas.” Baby steps. He’s a little too nervous to use his first name for reasons he doesn’t understand, but it’ll happen someday.

“Maybe your ears don’t work, Strider. You know, I can check them out for you. I do technically know how a human sponge clot works.” He slurs back and forth with terminology, not really paying attention. That’s the first to go: language. “This band is so fucking terrible, they could [____________________]” That was pure Alternian, no way for human ears to register. Damn. 

Dave squints, then turns his head and stares at Karkat. He was so sure he wasn’t drunk. No, it had to be Alternian. There were too many weird sounds for it to be the alcohol alone. “Uh, sure, that’s exactly what I meant to say by that.” He is reminded again that Karkat is not human, which isn’t that bad because he’s not feeling super paranoid anymore. This is fine. He’s survived a whole night around a drunk troll, and despite the several others around them, he thinks he’s safe. At least his doctor won’t hurt him. He wonders if the Empress keeps tabs on what he does, or what Dr. Vantas does, or what they do together. Maybe he’s a little paranoid.

Karkat starts to get more into the music as it progresses. This dumbass is so swayed by a crowd, he jumps the fuck around. He’s so ready to let the music feel him. Three sets later, and two more drinks, and this is actually a pretty damn good show. He doesn’t notice that he’s actually having fun, but to his credit, he also doesn’t notice all the people adding Dave to their snap stories. 

He does what he always does when bars and clubs make him feel uncomfortable: drink more. He’s not as far gone as Karkat seems to be, which is weirdly endearing in an I Told You So kind of way. Dave leaves his side to get another drink at the bar, and he’s glad to see that couple from before is gone. 

Suddenly, he loses track of his human. Dammit, that is exactly what he did not want to happen. It’s okay, because he gets in with a bunch of trolls that seem just as equally excited as he is. Until, of course, they start making fun of his horns. Even if it’s good natured, he gets all up in their fucking faces, threatening to do horrible nasty things to them if they keep going. The tension is real, very close to a bar fight but not exactly there. Because of a bad experience he had years ago, Karkat tries not to toss the first punch. However he’s totally fine loudly swearing at them in his first language. It feels fucking good on his tongue. 

When he’s done with that bullshit, he decides to go sulk in the corner. The music isn’t doing it for him anymore, and he can’t remember why he can’t leave but there seems to be a reason in the back of his mind.

Dave sits at the bar until he’s finished with his drink, which takes a little longer than he anticipated. This band just doesn’t stop, so he imagines it’ll be difficult to get back into the crowd and find the troll he came with when everyone’s in one space. There’s a guy who seems oddly sober who tries to talk to him, but Dave tells him he’s not also a designated driver: he’s just really used to holding himself together when he’s drunk. Regardless, they talk over the music for a few minutes before the guy asks him if he’s here with someone. Oh, yeah. He almost forgot, so he slides off of the bar stool immediately to go find Karkat. It’s kind of a rude goodbye, but he can’t be assed to be courteous to someone who probably just wants to be able to say they took a wasted Dave Strider home.

He pushes his way past several trolls and humans in a claustrophobic mess of a crowd, and when he doesn’t spot his doctor he opts the fuck out. Dave steps to the side, deciding to take a piss before he continues his search for Karkat. He does his business, then wanders back outside. He’s got a one-track mind at the moment, so no matter who tries to stop to talk to him, he ignores them and keeps going. He wonders if Karkat ditched him. He wonders if the troll went home with somebody. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s come with one or several people and ended up the last to leave the bar.

He spots Karkat on the opposite end of the club that he’s been looking around and he’s immediately stopped by yet  _ another _ huge fan looking to take a selfie with him. He is so tired of all of these twenty-somethings taking pictures of him for various social media apps, but he knows where his doctor is now, so he can relax for a minute. He’s so relieved the dude didn’t take off, so he takes a picture with the girl and two of her friends. He always has to hold the phone because his arms are usually longest, but these people are so lucky he doesn’t drop their phones. He can see himself in the camera’s reflection on the phone screen and he doesn’t look half as bad as he expected, but that’s probably due to the fact that his aviators are covering most of his face.

When the chicks are done chattering excitedly at him about how cool he is, he nods and takes off. He’s here with somebody, which is something he shouldn’t have said but doesn’t think about it until he’s halfway across the club. If those girls tweet about this Not Date between Dave Strider and his alien doctor, he’s going to be on fucking Ellen tomorrow answering questions about his sexuality.

Finally, Dave makes it to the spot he’d seen Karkat, only to find that the dude isn’t there anymore. He’s only about five feet away, but it still scared him. Dave is oddly nauseous and chalks it up mentally to the tequila upsetting his stomach right off the bat earlier. He pats the troll on the shoulder, trying to get him to turn around. “There you fuckin’ are,” He looks relieved only because his shades have started to slip down his nose. “What’s goin’ on? Are you ready to get out of here, or what?” Speaking over the obnoxious music is difficult because he’s more of a mumbler than a screamer (like Karkat undoubtedly is). The only time he yells is when he’s on set and everybody needs to hear him, and he hasn’t been on set in over a year.

He is ready to leave, mostly because he came here with Karkat so he wants to go with him. Not home with him. He just wants to get away from the noise and possibly tie him to a street pole and interrogate him so he knows his real motives with this whole friendship thing. Dave is drunk but not blackout drunk, so there’s a possibility that he can still be the one to call a cab. He has no fucking idea how well Karkat is handling himself, but as far as he can tell the dude doesn’t hold his soda well.

“Dance with me.” 

It’s not a question, and it’s not a command either. It’s a statement, like it’s going to happen. It’s inevitable, it’s part of the past and the future and the present all at once. Karkat knew that the moment he said it, he wanted it. He wanted to dance with Dave in front of all these people, he wants them to know that he’s hella fucking rad at dancing, and that they’re having a good time listening to this shitty music. 

Without waiting for an answer, or maybe ignoring one, Karkat grabs Dave by the wrist and leads him out towards the mass of people smashed and jumping around. He feels like a grub all over again, he feels young and stupid and he’s not really thinking about all that much. His body crashes along the human, slipping and sliding and getting way too close. But it’s comfortable, it’s forgettable and fun, it’s nothing. He’s pretty sure he’ll never forget what Dave smells like, and what he feels like, and then, just as fast as it starts, the set ends. 

The band does the whole fake-out going off thing, and the crowd begs for an encore. Karkat isn’t about that shit, and he’s done here just as quickly as he started. He tries to yell over the cheering fans. “Okay, now I’m ready to go.” 

Dave is far better at dancing when he’s wasted, which is good for Karkat considering the experience just now wasn’t mentally scarring. He tried not to think about how he’s all up in the club with the doctor who practically chopped his balls off, but it’s kind of vindictive in a really good way. The fishy slut of his nightmares can suck his sterilized dick. When Karkat says he’s ready to go, he figures it’s a good time to dip out. He’s not interested in the band, but he is suddenly more interested in talking to this guy a little bit more. Or is it going to be like every Thursday, when he says his piece and leaves? Dave takes his wrist this time and pulls Karkat away from the crowd and out of the bar. It’s late, but there are still people out here, loitering and trying to get into the bar despite the show being over.

The lights outside the club are brighter than he remembers. He blinks a few times, and his pupils are so fucking huge. For once, he lets himself be pulled along by the hand on his wrist. Fuck, no! Those lights are TOO bright. They aren’t just street lights, they’re flashing and they’re terrifying. It takes him longer than it should to realize that those lights are cameras, and even longer to realize that they must be here for Dave. What the fuck.


	7. the GAY escape

God damn it. He pulls Karkat back into the club, this time by hand, which was probably not the best move in retrospect. Dave pulls him to the side immediately and tries to talk over the band that is playing loudly and obnoxiously once again. “Listen, we’re going to the bathroom for a second while I figure out a ride.” He’s too fucking drunk and nauseous for this. Fuck tequila, really. “Stay in one spot so I don’t lose you and those paparazzi don’t skin you alive because you were leaving with me.”

“They aren’t here for me, right? I didn’t suddenly become famous overnight. I hate how that fucking happens.” He blows his hair off his forehead in one swift flick of his lips. It had gotten into his eyes. “Dave. I could leave without you if I wanted.” He’s not going to. 

“Then leave.” Dave rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone, requesting an Uber because he probably gets free rides anyway. He calls the driver to inform them of his situation, but the dude takes like, four rings to answer. Two stars.

Karkat pulls them both into the bathroom anyway, grabbing Dave by the crook of his arm, because it seems like a good idea. Only the light is even brighter and it hurts his eyes, and he wants to spend an eternity cuddled up under blankets without any light. “What kind of host would I be if I ditched you in the middle of this fucking wasteland? I don’t think you would manage to survive without me, honestly. Because you’re just [_________________________]. Honest to god, Dave, I thought that by now you would--” His attention snaps up suddenly. 

“I am NOT going through the window.” 

“You will go through the window if you have to, or you will leave and try to walk away from all those cameras outside.” Dave could be more courteous, but this wasn’t his idea and he’s also drunk. It’s just a thing that keeps happening consistently, because everything around him is happening so fast and he doesn’t know how to slow down and handle it all. “Listen, Karkat, relax. There’s probably a back door, we can use that. Our ride’s gonna be here in five minutes.” It’s one hundred dollars to clean up vomit in an Uber car, but he’s a billionaire. Still though, he doesn’t want to puke in some dude’s car, so he might as well swallow his pride and do it now.

“Give me a second, I gotta do this thing.” Dave steps away and into one of the few stalls the place has in the men’s room, and he’s vaguely sure some dude at the urinal is watching him. He hits the stall wall with his knuckles twice, but he’s more accustomed with the indignity of getting sick than the average human being so he sucks it up and shoves two fingers down his throat. While he’s getting it over with, he tries not to think about how he totally grabbed Karkat’s hand earlier. That was unnecessary. This is the cleanest dingiest bar bathroom he’s ever seen as well. He really hopes that isn’t a cell phone camera sound going off behind him because he’s going to be reasonably mad about it once he’s finished.

He wrinkles his nose when Dave goes to vomit. Ugh. He deals with that sort of crap all the time, but that doesn’t mean he has to like the smell. Karkat feels like he should pat his back or something, but instead he decides to wrestle away the phone from the guy who took a picture from the urinal. He growls at him angrily in a different language, and snaps the phone in half. Whoops. 

Dave stands up, good as new, except not really. He flushes away the gross stuff and takes a few steps to the sink to wash his hands and face. He gets as far as gargling water when he realizes it’s his worst nightmare come true once again: the  _ spins _ are back. He dries his hands on his pants and continues to completely ignore the urinal guy, stepping over to the bathroom wall with much effort. Did Karkat break that dude’s phone? His hero.

The dude who just lost a phone to an angry Karkat is getting pretty pissed, and rightfully so. The troll decides to remove him, pushing him outside the bathroom and then locking the door. He looks towards Dave, and raises an eyebrow. “Now what.” 

“Five minutes, I told you. It’s been, what, two?” Dave checks his phone anyway, squinting at the little car tracking his ride. He brings his brows together, looking over to Karkat and locking his phone once again. “Did you lock us in here? You’ve just volunteered yourself for a window escape, buddy.”

“Well excuse me for saving you from a tabloid explosion of your vomit all over the web. I am so glad that you are such a thankful person, wow. We really escaped a problem there.” He looks over at the window. “Where the fuck else was I supposed to put him?” 

He laughs because this is such a Classic Dave situation. This is not the first time he’s holed up in a bathroom trying to avoid getting his picture taken, and it won’t be the last. It is the first time, however, that he’s stuck in the bathroom with a troll. “I don’t know, in a stall or something while we dip out. It’s fine, you did good. Like on a scale of the opening act to-- uh, me, you’re the main act.” It’s not a comparison that makes much sense, but he vaguely remembers Karkat cursing about the band earlier tonight.

“I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about. Lift me up so I can squeeze my fat ass through this tiny fucking window and get it over with. They can figure out how to unlock this place later.” He pushes his sleeves up a bit. 

Dave adjusts his shades, checks his clothes, and then pushes himself away from the wall to make sure the window is all the way opened. It takes some fumbling, but it’s ready for Karkat soon enough. “I’m sure there’s a key. C’mere,” He didn’t really notice that his doctor even had an ass until tonight, which is incredible considering all of the times he’s watched him stomp away through the grass. “Make it quick.”

“I’ll take my fucking time, thank you.” He puts a foot on the wall, his other on the window, and with a little fumbling, he scrambles out the window. He’s pretty sure that Dave squeezed his ass, but he’s not going to make a comment about that right now. He can chew him out later. Karkat takes a tumble on the other side of the wall, into a pile of old cardboard boxes. “FUCK! Okay. Your turn, gangly limbs. I’ll try and catch you.” 

“That’s an awful idea!” He shouts from the other side, then scrambles to hop up and get out through the window. He has always been afraid of getting sliced in half by a ridiculously heavy window pane (it’d be some window pain, haha), but he ignores that fear in favor of wiggling out. He can handle a harsh landing, he just doesn’t want to hurt Karkat in the process. God, when did he start caring about this piece of shit doctor? He is so unqualified.

“Umph.” Just a little grunt when he takes a step back, and catches Dave in his arms. He’s not closer than when they were dancing earlier, so he has no idea what makes his blood pusher pound out of control. “You’re welcome, a-fucking-gain.” Karkat pushes him away, and brushes his hands off on his pants. “Now where’s this magical steed that you’ve called for us?” 

Again, his hero. Dave almost doesn’t catch himself against the bricks when he’s pushed away, but he’s had worse nights. He pulls out his phone and checks on the car. It should be pulling up right at the end of the street now, so he waves Karkat along as he starts walking in that direction. “This way, they’re waiting.”

“Thank FUCK.” He reaches out, and intertwines his arm with Dave’s because he’s not sure if the man could balance without a little bit of help. He spots a car that looks like it’s loitering, and he pulls them in the right direction. The air is cold and crisp, and his eyes are sharp in the near darkness. It’s nice, and he almost wishes that they could keep walking for a bit. 

But alas, they cannot. Karkat opens the door, and practically pushes Dave into the car before anyone can see his face. Should they have put some sort of disguises on earlier? Probably. In retrospect, they’ll have to do that in the future- 

Woah, what kind of thought is that? Karkat contemplates the matter as the driver starts to speed away. He doesn’t realize that he hasn’t given Dave his address, even if it would be closer to drop him off first. He doesn’t really think about that at all. Instead, he ponders the good night he had, even if it was inherently shitty. A terrible band, a terrible bar, a sure as hell headache the following morning, and a string of paparazzi attacks. But he wants to do it again. All of it. 

He’s in too deep. 

Dave rests his head against the window at first. The spinning is slowing down, so he eventually sits up and leans back against the cushions. He hasn’t said anything to Karkat and the driver is headed toward Dave’s place, since it was his phone that made the request. He looks over at the troll and wonders if any assumptions can be made here. He is very much used to hopping into cabs and Uber cars with strangers who don’t ask the driver to stop at their homes, but he didn’t expect his doctor to do the same. Dave supposes he’s drunk enough, and if that’s what Karkat was getting at with this whole bar date thing, oh well. He doesn’t go out with people to make friends anyway.

Karkat spends the majority of the ride hoping that Dave doesn’t puke again. He thinks that the human has himself pretty under control, considering that he does this so often, but you never know when you hit a bump and all the fucking guts spill out. He keeps him sitting up straight, and even starts patting his back at one point. But he doesn’t talk, because he’s not sure that they SHOULD talk about what just happened with the driver listening in. At least he’s not a chatty guy. 

Karkat makes a comment about stepping on the fucking gas, but then he almost wishes he hadn’t when this guy starts taking side streets and zooming all over the place. Please don’t puke, please don’t puke. Finally, they park outside Dave’s giant fucking mansion. He slides out of the side, tips the guy an extra twenty bucks, and then hauls Dave up and over his shoulder. “Okay, come on big guy. Stay awake. Someone has to punch the code into your gate, and I’m not about climbing over shit right now.” 

Karkat settles them against the stone pillar of the gate. What the hell time even is it? A check of his wrist confirms that it’s after one in the morning, and he wonders what the neighbors think. Actually, it’s probably a good thing that these driveways are so long you would need a telescope to see them from inside the houses. The crickets are out, chirping their heads off as they try to find mates before the cold of winter sets in. 

Dave is doing just fine. Yes, he’s a little dizzy, but he isn’t completely trashed. He protested when the troll lifted him up and out of the car, but once he’s on his feet he’s fine. He opens up the gate and when the thing swings open, he ushers Karkat past it. The smaller dude’s theatrics are amusing for the most part, but he wants to get inside already. It’s breezy and kind of cold out here, at least for a guy who was born and raised himself in Texas. He might never get used to the temperature drops below forty.

He fumbles with his keys briefly before they finally get inside the house, and it’s safe to pull off his jacket. Dave tosses it to the couch along with the keys (in the pocket), and he kicks off his shoes. The dizziness has passed for the moment, which usually means it’s safe to drink more, but he isn’t sure he wants to offer Karkat any soda. Do trolls throw up when they drink too much? He just doesn’t know anything. Dave makes his way into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and hesitating before grabbing another. He places them on the island, then opens up a higher cabinet to grab a glass.

“Some water, there.” He says, moving to fill his glass with ice. “You want any Coke? Infinitely better than Pepsi.” Dave felt like he had to clarify that he’s talking about soda and not cocaine. He doesn’t think he’d ever offer a troll coke, as opposed to Coke. Branding. He pours some apple juice in his glass and a bit of vodka to get rid of the awful taste in his mouth. He really doesn’t like tequila.

He wastes no time with the drink, then moves onto the water, because he’d rather do what he can now to avoid an awful headache in the morning. At any rate, he knows he’s doomed to feel nauseous tomorrow. It happens.

“Fuck no I don’t want anything else.” He gives Dave a slightly concerned look, because he can handle a lot but YIKES. Karkat has since pulled his sweater sleeves down around his wrists. He grabs a bottle of water, not touching the bottle with his fingers because it’s cold, and he takes a long drink. 

“So you do know your limits,” It’s not much of a question, just more of an accusation considering he drank enough to pass out on Dave’s couch a few weeks ago. What a loser. “Cool.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He gives Dave a glare over his water. He’s been glaring at him a lot lately. “So that was a thing that just happened. I would offer to pay you back for the expensive fucking joyride, but those cameras were your fault, and I paid for the tickets, and I paid for the cab over. So there you fucking go.” 

“Yeah, I’d say we’re about even.” He doesn’t really want to think about those shitty underground bands, but those kinds of acts always remind him of the music he liked before he moved to California. When he was a poor little orphan kid with no money and no artistic credibility. Now he’s a Billionaire Playboy Genius Philanthropist who can afford to see Kanye West perform in his own house whenever he feels like it. Still no artistic credibility, but some neat movies.

Dave makes a move to dump his ice in the sink after a moment of silence, because this is a pretty weird exchange. He decides they might as well get this over with. Karkat has had enough water. It’s time to give him some C12H22O11.

He yawns, and he’s not thinking about anything but sleeping. Karkat wonders how rude it would be to ask to stay in the extra bedroom, and he wonders if he cares about sounding rude. He leaves the kitchen, and goes to sit down on the couch, because he figures he’s been asleep there before and it’s okay. He curls up on one of the corners of the couch, tucking his feet under his ass. “If you had a fire pit, this would be fucking perfect. No, wait. I want at least three blankets.”

Dave leaves his own water bottle half-empty on the island counter, walking over to where his doctor is sitting on the couch. “You really have no qualms with making yourself feel at home, do you.” Doesn’t really matter to him, because he’s  **doing it, he’s making it hapen** .

“You grabbed my ass pushing me out of a bathroom window in the middle of Los Angeles. I would say that I have the right to sit on your couch.” His eyes are half open, half closed. He’s such a sleepy troll. 

“I don’t recall.” Dave is like lightning. Really sloppy lightning. He plops down on the couch next to the troll and he’s all up in his business in seconds. It is such a well-practiced smooch that he plants on this dude’s face, he impresses himself. He smells like apple juice and the club.

 

Karkat was not expecting that. 

He pushes Dave away, firmly on the shoulders, and looks at him with a sort of horrified expression. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

This has honestly never happened to him. He looks pretty confused, and even more so when he pushes his shades into his hair.

“I should probably go.” 

This has  _ definitely  _ never happened to him. The shades go right back on his nose and he goes into some sort of defensive mode where he makes absolutely no expression from this point on. “It’s cool, you can sleep here if you want. Blankets are in the closet to the left. I’ll be upstairs.”

And in a flash, he is gone.

“No. I think I should-” He doesn’t even have time to finish his sentence. His lips are still warm. He gets off the couch, and doesn’t notice that his phone falls out of his pocket. Karkat decides to get the hell out of a weird situation. He realizes that he forgot his phone once he’s outside the gate, but there’s no going back at this point. Fuck. He walks two miles to a bus stop, forgets that the busses don’t run this late, and waits for about twenty minutes. He manages to catch a taxi when he walks a little bit closer to the city, making it through his door by four AM. 


	8. The Mourning After

That was, without a doubt, the most humiliating moment of his life.

Okay, it wasn’t that bad in the grand scheme of things, and it takes him twenty minutes to even remember it happened in the late morning while he’s brushing his teeth, but he’s embarrassed when he does. Dave is both relieved and confused. He’s not used to getting rejected these days, and the last thing he expected Karkat to do was freak out and leave. That rules him out as a possibly spy of the Condesce. Or, he’s just a spy with dignity. Then again, who doesn’t want to have sex with him? Is it because he’s male? A human? Did he still smell like vomit? Is it a combination of all of those things and whatever impotency problems Karkat undoubtedly has? Sure, that one.

Dave takes a couple of pain pills to ease the headache, and he eats half a loaf of bread from the toaster. Something about toast is just so comforting. He types a little on his laptop and sends a few emails for work, and then he spends the afternoon on the couch. He doesn’t notice the strange phone until much later, around the time he’s thinking about having In-N-Out delivered to him. It could be anybody’s, but who the fuck else has a flip phone this day and age? It’s the troll’s, and this is just an unnecessary complication to add to their weird as shit relationship. What the fuck is going on with them, anyway? Are they friends? Are they still some sort of fucked up doctor-patient thing? If Karkat doesn’t want to sleep with him, he doesn’t really understand what he wants. That’s probably the saddest thing about the situation, but he doesn’t realize it when he’s giving Rose the cliffnotes over the phone that night.

That woman has so much to deal with on her end, she probably feels completely disconnected from whatever the fuck wild shenanigans Dave is getting into in California. It’s like hearing the plot of a soap opera via interactive podcast or something. Rose always provides some decent advice though, and she helps Dave feel at ease, at least until Thursday.

Karkat gets an interesting gift to bring to Dave on Thursday. It’s a little slip of pink bedazzled condoms wrapped in velvet, and he’s starting to think that she has some sort of intel on Dave’s house. Does she have him bugged? He hopes to fuck not.

He’s tried not to think about Dave throughout the week, but it’s hard to do when he’s missing his phone. He gets a shit ton of texts and calls, some of which matter but most of which don’t. He is a reliable doctor, after all, and has a pager. He hopes that it was just a drunken mistake that happened once, because he’s not sure what he’ll do if Dave kisses him again. What was it that made him think that was okay? Was it because Karkat took him out? Holy shit, that was not a date. Did he think it was a date?? Jesus, he must have been on some shitty ass dates.  

He braces himself for whatever eventual situation is going to happen, and he buzzes himself in through the gate. Knocks on the door with assumed furiosity. 

Dave is way too cool to answer the door right away. No, he’s busy, he’s doing something important. He is, for once, fully clothed when he does answer. The phone is in the kitchen where he left it on Sunday morning, but he swears he isn’t trying to get Karkat inside. He can get the phone for him if he really wants, but what he wants most is to successfully play off the I Was Too Drunk To Remember thing. Not very believable coming from him.

“So here are some penis hats, or something stupid like that. They literally have zero meaning to me, so excuse my utter lack of embarrassment.” 

“Those are condoms?” Dave thinks the box looks awfully pink. Like it’s embarrassed to have been associated with the Alternian Empress.

“Well yeah, no shit.” He pauses. “Also, I left my phone when I came here last Saturday. Which I probably shouldn’t have done. Because we’re supposed to be in a professional, business relationship.” He pauses again. Always waiting for Dave to clue in. “I’ve never done that with a patient before. Well, backing the phone the fuck up, a patient has never done that to me. So congratulations.” 

The phrasing makes him at least thirty percent more nervous, but he can do this. Just because he’s never won an Oscar for acting doesn’t mean he can’t act. “What are you talking about? And yeah, I found your phone in my couch. It’s in the kitchen if you want it.” Dave takes the box of condoms and takes a few steps back before he tosses it lightly in the air, and punches it to Karkat’s chest. The usual. Damn, he is so nonchalant. He’s always been better at that when he’s sober.

Karkat sets the box down on the counter, because he’s not taking it with him. He grabs his phone, elated to have it actually found and not missing or otherwise held hostage. “I’m talking about the part of the night where you smashed your face to my face, and tried to come on to me on the couch.” He leans against the counter, and Dave loses his attention as he scrolls through texts from the last few days. He has a lot of friends. 

That is so fucking specific that he cringes. Dave sort of closes the door, but it doesn’t click or anything. He walks past Karkat and into the kitchen, where he grabs the giant bottle of apple juice before he grabs a glass. However, the bottle is empty enough that he can totally chug this. He puts the glass back.

“If you pour vodka into that, I swear to god.” Okay, so Dave had a small portion of his attention. He is almost done responding, his fingers flying over the keys surprisingly fast for a flip phone. 

“Chill out.” He doesn’t really like being told what to do. “You know, sometimes I drink apple juice all by itself because it is that good of a beverage. It’s not like orange juice, which usually needs to be made infinitely better with champagne.” Dave rolls his eyes and he drinks straight from the mostly-empty bottle. It’s his fucking house, he can do what he wants. “I don’t remember kissing you, thank fuck, so is there anything else you need from me?” No, he sounds too angry. He needs to tone it down, take it back a notch. “You’re a busy guy.”

“Well yeah, why the hell else did I leave? You popped a big fucking smooch on my face, and I didn’t know how to deal with it because that’s illegal in like, three different ways.” He closes his phone, and slips it into his pocket. “I thought we were just going to chill and talk about life, or maybe look at the stars or some existential bullshit that fits in with going to a shitty show. Excuse me for not realizing that you can’t go out with someone without expecting them to put out.” He’s looking at him now, with those sharp red eyes. 

Dave doesn’t look at Karkat until he is completely finished with the apple juice. He practically inhaled it. When he does look back to the doctor, it’s with those dull black shades. “We don’t have to talk about it because it ain’t a thing, Karkat. I was drunk. Just roll with it and get over it.” He doesn’t deny that he remembers this time, but he isn’t offering any sort of explanation as to why he did it in the first place.

“Oh so now you realize that you kissed me.” He puts a hand on his hip. 

“It’s all a really unpleasant blur, so I’d like to forget about it if you don’t mind.” Dave tosses the bottle in the recycling bin he’s got under the counter, and he leans back against the marble afterward. There is something so paradoxical about Karkat, a troll who makes him want to drink excessively and be sober at the same time. He’s never known someone so frustrating on a molecular fucking level. He subverts all expectations Dave has of both healthcare professionals and trolls, and people in general.

“So you were ignoring it on purpose for some reason.” He shakes his head. “That makes literally no fucking sense, because you should put that memory in the front of your mind. If you ever kiss me again without asking, I’ll punch your face in until they find an imprint of your stupid ass sunglasses on your skull.” He takes a step towards the door. 

Dave really wishes he had some sort of glass to smash dramatically on the floor, but alas. “You are literally the most aggravating person on the planet. I have never met someone so incredibly fucking eager to piss people off. It makes perfect sense, dude. I got drunk, I did something stupid, and I want to pretend it didn’t happen. You aren’t the first guy I’ve done that to, you’re just the first to say no. I’m sorry for not asking, but quite frankly, I don’t understand you. I don’t know what you want from me. If I kissed you, it’s because that’s what I expected you to want, and I really don’t get why it instantaneously drove you away. You could’ve talked to me about it then, but no, you ran away like fucking Cinderella and left your goddamn cell phone.” Dave has to stop to really breathe and collect his thoughts, because it all came out quickly without much thinking. Karkat’s tirades are starting to rub off. “You can go ahead and take off again. I’ve got shit to do.”

He calms down considerably, even though he wasn’t getting too riled up despite the length of his piece.

He opens his mouth, closes it, and then points a finger at Dave. “You only kissed me because you thought *I* wanted it? Well that is the dumbest, most backwards way of confessing some kind of asshole feelings for me that I’ve ever heard. I mean, really, the most you could do in the future is use your words, and not your dumb mouth to do that kind of shit.” 

“F-- You think I have  _ feelings _ for you? What are we, twelve? I assumed you wanted to fuck me because you were all up on me in the club,” Hilarious. “And you didn’t ask for a ride home. You were like,  _ no, Dave, it’s cool, I’ll go home with you since this was my idea _ . What the fuck else was I supposed to think?”

“I don’t know!” His face looks fallen, because all of the things Dave said brought a dull ache to his chest. “And I don’t know what the fuck I WANT from you, because I don’t treat relationships like I’m always trying to get shit out of them. I actually had a decent fucking time with you because I wasn’t focussing on what I WANTED from you.” His voice is growing with escalating power. “I thought that we had some twisted kind of friendship! I thought that I didn’t have to leave your hive immediately because you wouldn’t try to FUCK me. I’m not some stupid one night stand. You don’t owe me anything! I just wanted to make sure you didn’t pass the fuck out because you FORCED yourself to vomit into a public bathroom.” 

Dave rolls his eyes so hard he’s shocked they don’t pop right out of his skull. “I’m not a fucking child, Karkat. I threw up because I made a bad judgement call with the drinks. I can handle myself.” He pushes his shades up only to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Nobody goes home with someone to just twiddle their thumbs on the couch, Vantas. That’s not how it works.”

“Obviously fucking not if you come here and try to drink more shit. God, you offered ME shit. Was that your end game? The entire time?” There’s that ache again. “Excuse me if I actually LIKE connection with other living people. You don’t get to decide the rules on how it does and doesn’t work. You need a moirail so fucking bad that it’s painful to watch.” 

“That’s not how it works with  _ me _ . Maybe I’m just conditioned at this point to expect that someone is only interested in fucking me if they follow me home. I was trying to be polite, because shit was getting really awkward. Probably had something to do with the fact that we were on the wrong fucking page. We were reading entirely different books. In different libraries!”

“Well maybe you need better friends!” 

“I don’t go to bars and clubs to make  _ friends _ .” Dave doesn’t understand why they are so fundamentally different, and why Karkat just can’t see it his way. Such is an argument.

He shrugs, and turns around. He’s tense all over, and trying to think back over his actions. Maybe he shouldn’t have danced with him. Hell, maybe he shouldn’t have even invited him in the first place. But he’s not going to try to argue that right now, because he’s hurt and he hates that he gave Dave the power to hurt him. 

“Listen, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. This argument is going nowhere because we are completely different kinds of people. I had a good time with you, I just got mixed up.” He rubs his forehead with the back of his hand and sighs deeply, still leaning against the counter. Except his body is tense and his spine is digging into the marble.

“Maybe it’s my fault.” He bites the inside of his cheek, the taste of shame a bitter flavor indeed. 

“It’s not a matter of whose fault it was or wasn’t. I misinterpreted what you wanted from me and that’s my bad.”

“You would really fuck me if you didn’t want it yourself?” He looks back over his shoulder. “Jesus. Dave. What I want.” He takes a step closer to him. He’s really sincere, he means it, too. “Is for you to find someone who YOU want to fuck.” 

He brings his brows together briefly. “I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but I don’t have the luxury of doing that anymore. And don’t suggest some stupid romcom plot where I go to the other side of town and pretend I’m poor and romantic. I don’t have the time to do that shit.”

“No, I wouldn’t suggest that. You don’t have the charm of Disney’s Aladdin anyway.” He takes a step closer. He could touch him if he reached out his hand. 

“Aladdin pretended to be rich, dude.”

“So then you’re the fucking princess, only you have actual responsibilities and shit. But. One major difference.” Another step. 

“What’s that.” Karkat is a little too close to comfort. He feels like he’s going to reach up and smack him. Dave doesn’t move, because at the same time he doesn’t want to scare the troll.

“She actually believed in romance.” He stands up, tall on his tip toes, and pecks him softly on the cheek. Then he turns and walks the fuck out of dodge, because he’s done with dealing with this tiny ass man child today.

That is quite possibly the cheesiest thing he ever heard get said, but Dave doesn’t do anything about it. Instead, he rubs the weird feeling out of his face because he’s not standing for Karkat’s blatant romantic manipulation. He’s got real work to do, like waiting for important emails from other producers and the studio, and otherwise watching Netflix shows on the couch.


End file.
